•gerjolt 

>n 


SHERRY 


A    DAY    OR    TWO    MORE    OF    THE    SIMPLE    LIFE 

IN    THE    WOODS    AND    HE    WOULD    BE 

FIT    AS    A    FIDDLE 

Page  50 


SHERRY 


BY 

GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEON 

Author  of  "Graustark,"  "The  City  of  Masks,"  etc. 


FRONTISPIECE  BY 

C.  ALLAN  GILBERT 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1919 


COPYRIGHT,  1919 
BT  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC. 


SRLF. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I 1 

II       ..    * 14 

III     . 24 

IV 36 

V     .'.'•• 49 

VI     .. 61 

VII     .      .      .      . 74 

VIII  .............  86 

IX 99 

X 116 

XI 134 

XII 153 

XIII 167 

XIV 177 

XV 188 

XVI 199 

XVII 214 

XVIII 229 

XIX     . '   .      . 239 

XX 250 

XXI  .  268 


SHERRY 


CHAPTER  I 

"fT"^  HAT'S  my  last  dime,"  said  young  Redpath, 
as  he  deposited  the  coin  with  elaborate  pre- 

JL  cision  upon  the  shiny  surface  of  the  bar. 
As  the  bartender  slid  the  glass  and  the  bottle  in  front 
of  him,  he  added,  unsteadily :  "  And  this  is  my  last 
drink." 

The  dispenser  of  drinks  did  not  smile.  He  had 
heard  that  sort  of  proclamation  before.  He  tenderly 
polished  the  surface  of  the  bar  with  his  towel,  squinted 
at  it,  and  removed  a  recently  deposited  splotch  of 
water,  the  result  of  his  patron's  unsteadiness  of  hand 
in  pushing  aside  the  "  chaser." 

"  Good !  "  said  he,  squinting  again.  "  You  mean 
the  last  for  today,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  cash 
register.  His  customer  watched  him  ring  up  the 
amount,  starting  slightly  as  the  bell  gave  forth  its  per- 
emptory clangs--  J^^^t^t , 

"  The  last  ever"  said  the  patron,  and  dashed  off 
the  brimming  glass  of  bourbon.  His  throat  contracted 
with  the  spasm  customary  to  him  who  drinks  his  liquor 
"  neat " :  and  then,  thinking  better  of  his  habits,  he 
reached  out  and  lifted  the  small  glass  of  water  to  his 
lips.  It  had  been  his  vainglorious  boast  that  he  al- 
ways took  his  whisky  straight.  Somehow  this  "  last 


2  SHERRY 

drink  "  seemed  to  burn  a  little  more  fiercely  than  usual. 
He  looked  into  the  empty  glass  wonderingly. 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?"  demanded  the  bar- 
keeper sharply.  "  Ain't  it  all  right  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  said  Redpath.  "  I  was  just  wondering 
why  a  fellow's  last  drink  should  go  down  harder  than 
the  first  one.  I  don't  remember  that  my  first  drink 
took  the  skin  off  like  that  one  did.  Maybe  it's  just 
as  well  that  it  did  burn.  Something  to  remember  all 
the  rest  of  my  unpickled  days." 

The  barkeeper  now  eyed  him  with  interest.  "  Going 
to  cut  it  out  for  good,  eh?  "  he  said  derisively. 

"  Ab-so-lute-ly,"  said  the  other,  meeting  the  look 
with  one  that  was  strangely  direct,  considering  his  con- 
dition. 

"  Good  work.  Stick  to  that,  Sherry,  and  you'll  be 
somebody  in  spite  of  yourself.  You  been  boozin' 
pretty  steady  for  a  feller  of  your  age  and  — " 

His  customer,  still  reflecting,  expounded  his  reflec- 
tions aloud.  "  You  see,  it's  really  the  first  time  I  ever 
took  my  last  drink.  My  insides  simply  can't  under- 
stand it.  They  don't  believe  that  such  a  thing  exists 
as  a  last  drink,  Patsy." 

"  They'll  feel  different  in  the  morning,"  said  Patsy. 
"  They'll  be  asking  for  another  last  drink,  and  they'll 
keep  on  askin',  they  like  it  so  well.  But,  say,  kid, 
you're  young  enough  to  cut  it  out.  Taper  off 
gradual-like  — " 

"  But  I'm  never  going  to  take  another,"  said  Red- 
path,  in  some  surprise.  "  Didn't  you  hear  what  I 
said?  I've  quit,  Patsy, —  quit  for  good.  And,  say,  I 
hope  you  notice  that  I'm  quitting  with  a  little  edge  on, 


SHERRY  » 

too.     Anybody  can  swear  off  when  he's  sober  or  get- 
ting over  a  bun,  but  it  isn't  every  one  who  can  stop 
right   in   the  middle   of  one.     Well,   that's  what   I'm 
doing,   Patsy.     I'm   doing  something  nobody   else   on 
earth   ever   did.     I've   turned   decent    and    respectable  7    / 
and  industrious   right  in  the  middle  of  a  jag,  that's  / 
what   I've  done.     It   isn't  human   nature  to   do  that, 
now  is  it?     I  leave  it  to  you,  Patsy." 

"  Well,"  said  Patsy,  "  I've  seen  'em  turn  religious 
and  sing  psalms  right  at  the  very  top  of  a  jag,  and  I 
know  one  feller  that  always  says  his  prayers  when  he's 
full.  I'd  call  that  being  decent  and  respectable, 
wouldn't  you?  " 

"  Say,  I  believe  you're  trying  to  kid  me,"  growled 
Redpath,  straightening  up  suddenly.  He  laid  his  fist 
gently  upon  the  bar.  "  You  don't  believe  I'm  in  earn- 
est. You  don't  think  I  can  do  it.  Well,  let  me  tell 
you  something  right  now,  Patsy.  That  was  my  last 
drink.  I'll  never  take  another  one  as  long  as  I'm  con- 
scious. I  said  a  long  and  permanent  farewell  to  booze 
when  I  swallowed  that  last  ten  cents'  worth.  I've  no- 
ticed that  you  never  touch  a  drop,  Patsy.  Why  is 
that?" 

"  I  couldn't  hold  my  job  if  I  touched  that  stuff,"  said 
Patsy,  promptly,  almost  severely.  "  I  haven't  had  a 
drink  in  —  let's  see,  this  is  1910  —  seven  years.  You 
never  see  any  souses  behind  the  bar,  my  boy." 

"  Well,  speaking  of  jobs,  I'm  going  out  to  look  for 
one  myself,"  said  Redpath  firmly.  "  And  I'm  going  to 
begin  by  being  as  good  as  any  bartender  on  earth.  If 
a  bartender  can  be  good,  so  can  I." 

"You'll  never  get  a  job  in  this  burg.     They  know 


4  SHERRY 

you  too  well.  You  never  did  a  lick  of  work  in  your 
life,  and  these  people  in  this  town  won't  let  you  begin, 
no  matter  how  virtuous  you  —  virtuous  ain't  the  word 
I  want,  but  it  will  do  in  a  pinch.  No  matter  what  you 
do,  they'll  pan  you  to  a  finish.  Get  out  of  this  town 
as  quick  as  you  can  and  —  say,  ever  think  of  going 
farther  West?" 

"  I  refuse  to  go  West.  I'm  going  to  stay  right 
in  this  town.  Good  Lord,  who'd  want  to  go  any  far- 
ther West  than  this?" 

"  I  mean  some  place  like  Seattle  or  California,"  ex- 
plained Patsy.  "  You  can  brace  up  and  be  some- 
thing if  you  get  away  from  these  blood-suckers  around 
here."  He  lowered  his  voice.  Two  men  seated  at  a 
table  in  the  corner  were  watching  them  with  interest. 
With  an  almost  imperceptible  jerk  of  his  head,  he  in- 
dicated the  pair.  "  Couple  of  'em  setting'  over  there. 
Between  'em  they've  got  a  small  fortune  out  o'  you." 

Redpath  bestowed  a  lofty  stare  upon  the  couple, 
checking  the  barkeeper's  speech  with  an  upraised 
hand.  "  They  can't  get  anything  more  out  of  me, 
Patsy,  because  I  haven't  got  anything  more  for  them 
to  get.  Not  a  red.  I'm  strapped.  That  was  my  last 
dime.  What  do  you  suppose  Joe  Stetson  would  say 
if  I  walked  over  right  now  and  tried  to  borrow  five 
dollars  of  him?  He'd  say  I  was  drunk,  and  that  he'd 
let  me  have  it  in  a  minute  if  I  was  sober.  I'm  through 
with  that  gang." 

"  Gosh,"  said  Patsy,  sorrowfully,  "  what  a  chance 
you  had  —  and  what  a  mess  you  made  of  it !  There 
never  was  a  boy  in  this  town  that  had  the  — " 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,"  interrupted  the  other, 


SHERRY  5 

frowning.  "  That's  all  dead  and  gone.  I  buried  the 
last  of  it  when  I  took  that  drink.  I  started  out  with 
a  couple  of  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  see  where 
I  am  now?  Well,  I'm  going  to  see  if  I  can  do  any  bet- 
ter by  starting  without  a  red  cent.  Everything  to 
gain  and  nothing  to  lose.  See  what  I  mean?  I'm  go- 
ing to  see  how  it  feels  to  make  money.  I  certainly 
know  how  it  feels  to  spend  it." 

"  I  always  said  your  dad  made  a  mistake  sending 
you  East  to  college,"  said  Patsy.  "  Never  catch  me 
sending  a  son  of  mine  to  college.  Why,  I  used  to  work 
in  a—" 

"  My  dear  sir,"  broke  in  Redpath,  with  extreme 
gravity,  "  you  will  be  interested  to  hear  that  I  never 
touched  a  drop  of  liquor  durin' — during  the  three 
years  I  was  in  college.  Not  a  drop." 

"Come  off!" 

"  It's  the  honest  truth.  Ask  anybody.  Ask  the 
faculty.  I—" 

"  Well, —  be  that  as  it  may,"  said  Patsy,  with  the 
air  of  one  admitting  nothing.  "  What  was  you  fired 
for?" 

"  Who  said  I  was  fired  ?  " 

"  Don't  it  take  four  years  to  go  through  a  college  ?  " 

"  It  depends  entirely  on  whether  you  start  in  the 
fress  —  freshman  or  the  soph'more  class,"  said  his  cus- 
tomer, loftily. 

"  Wasn't  you  ever  a  freshman  ?  "  demanded  Patsy, 
amazed. 

"  Never !  "  said  Redpath,  profoundly.  "  Never  in 
my  life." 

Patsy  was  thoughtful  as  he  wiped  a  tall  glass  after 


6  SHERRY 

breathing  on  it  carefully.  "  Maybe  that  explains  why 
you  never  took  a  drink  in  college." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  promised  some  one  I  wouldn't  drink 
until  I  was  through  college." 

"Some  girl,  eh?" 

"  No,"  said  the  young  man,  lowering  his  eyes  sud- 
denly. "  Some  one  better  than  any  girl,  Patsy."  He 
went  no  farther,  but  Patsy  understood  and  nodded  his 
head. 

"  It's  a  pity,"  the  bartender  began  and  then 
stopped,  an  innate  sense  of  delicacy  reminding  him 
that  a  public  bar  is  not  the  place  in  which  to  allude  to 
one's  mother.  It  had  been  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to 
say  that  it  was  a  pity  she  hadn't  live.d  to  look  out 
for  her  boy  after  he  came  out  of  college. 

"  'Gad,"  began  Redpath,  a  quizzical  grin  on  his 
handsome,  flushed  face,  "  you  wouldn't  think  to  look 
at  me  now  that  I'm  not  a  drinkin'  man,  would  you?  " 

"  No,  I  wouldn't,"  said  Patsy.  "  I'd  say  you  in- 
dulged once  in  awhile,"  he  added  sarcastically. 
"  About  once  every  twelve  or  thirteen  minutes." 

"  Well,  that's  what  makes  it  all  seem  so  queer  to  me. 
Here  I  am  half-full  and  yet  I  am  not  a  drinkin'  man. 
I  don't  drink  a  drop,  Patsy, —  not  a  drop.  I  used  to 
drink, —  Lord,  you  know  that,  don't  you?  —  but  I 
don't  drink  now.  Funny,  isn't  it?  " 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  an  August 
day.  Trade  was  always  slack  at  that  hour,  Patsy 
Burke  explained;  in  fact,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  dozing 
comfortably  over  the  Police  Gazette.  The  soda-founts 
and  ice-cream  parlours  on  Main  Street  took  his  cus- 
tomers away  from  him  at  that  time  o'  day.  Later  on, 


SHERRY  7 

of  course, —  about  six  or  half-past,  say, —  things 
would  pick  up.  The  same  fellows  who  went  into  the 
drugstores  for  phosphates  and  sundaes  would  drop  in 
at  his  place, —  not  always  for  the  purpose  of  getting 
something  stronger  to  drink  but  to  see  who  was  there, 
—  and  they  would  stay  on  till  supper-time.  (Patsy 
did  not  know  that  some  of  his  more  advanced  custom- 
ers called  it  dinner-time.) 

The  saloon  was  quiet,  and  dark,  and  delightfully  cool 
from  the  refrigerators  that  preserved  the  "  draft 
beer."  There  was  chipped  ice  beneath  the  bar,  and  the 
tiled  floor  was  in  a  constant  state  of  being  washed  with 
cold  water  by  a  sleepy  negro  who  paused  in  his  mop- 
ping every  now  and  then  to  restore  his  failing  energies 
at  the  proprietor's  expense.  The  glare  of  the  hot  sun 
failed  to  penetrate  to  the  interior  of  this  cool  retreat; 
two  huge  ceiling  fans  stirred  the  damp,  sluggish  air 
with  gentle  persistence;  the  glassware  ranged  along 
in  front  of  the  vast  mirror  glistened  pleasantly  and  re- 
flected cleanliness ;  bottles  of  many  hues  lent  cheer  and 
gaiety  to  the  almost  cloister-like  retreat;  ecclesiastical 
somnolence  prevailed ! 

Except  for  the  sticky  fly  paper  at  the  opposite  ends 
of  the  bar,  somewhat  ostentatiously  protected  from 
human  elbows  by  plates  of  free-lunch, —  which  con- 
sisted of  crackers,  cheese,  dried  herring,  ham-sausage 
and  pickles, —  the  place  was  as  immaculate  as  a  chapel. 
An  artistic  manipulator  of  castile  soap  had  placarded 
the  borders  of  the  long  mirror  with  such  legends  as 
these :  "  We  won't  go  home  till  morning,"  "  One  good 
turn  deserves  another,"  "All  others  cash,"  while  di- 
rectly above  the  elaborately  carved  stretch  of  mahog- 


8  SHERRY 

any  Patsy, —  a  true  wag, —  had  hung  this  motto,  done 
in  green  and  yellow  worsteds :  "  God  Bless  Our 
Home." 

Three  large  and  flourishing  palms,  set  in  tubs,  es- 
tablished the  boundary  line  between  bar  and  billiard 
room.  There  were  four  tables, —  two  for  pool  in  the 
foreground  and  two  for  billiards  at  the  back ;  —  all  of 
them  were  now  neatly  swathed  in  their  black  oilcloth 
shrouds,  awaiting  the  reviving  influence  of  electric 
lights  later  on  in  the  evening.  Racks  of  cues  and  tri- 
angles of  pool  balls  were  solemnly  at  rest  in  the  dark- 
ened area  beyond  the  palms,  for  this  was  their  sleep- 
time. 

Outside  the  palms  were  two  small  tables,  each  offi- 
cered by  a  tiny  but  business-like  call-bell,  while  in  the 
corner  nooks  on  either  side  of  the  street-door  stood 
similar  objects.  At  one  of  the  latter,  two  men  were 
seated, —  sporty  looking  chaps  who  conversed  in  con- 
fidential tones,  as  is  their  wont. 

This  was  the  fashionable  saloon  of  the  town.  The 
best  men  in  the  place  did  their  shopping  there.  Even 
the  travelling  salesmen  who,  in  all  reason,  should  have 
patronized  the  bars  connected  with  the  Tremont  House 
and  the  New  Savoy,  where  they  were  registered  and 
where  they  were  on  speaking  terms  with  all  of  the  wait- 
resses,—  (both  hostelries  had  tried  coloured  waiters 
and  found  them  wanting)  —  even  the  "  drummers  "  af- 
fected the  Sunbeam,  which  happened,  through  rare 
good  luck  or  because  of  a  stupid  miscalculation  on  the 
part  of  the  owners  of  the  two  hotels,  to  be  so  advan- 
tageously situated  that  if  you  missed  either  of  the 
hotels  you  couldn't  help  finding  yourself  in  front  of 


SHERRY  9 

the  Sunbeam.  In  other  words,  it  was  two  doors  west 
of  the  Tremont  and  three  doors  east  of  the  New  Savoy, 
and  just  across  the  street  from  the  Grand  Opera 
House. 

It  had  its  regular  clientele.  Selecting  any  one  of  a 
certain  number  of  men  and  hitting  upon  the  exact  min- 
ute,—  say,  eight-thirty-five  in  the  evening,  or  half- 
past  eleven  in  the  morning,  or  a  quarter  before  twelve 
at  night, —  you  would  only  have  to  dodge  into  the 
Sunbeam  and  there  he  would  be, —  unless,  of  course, 
the  unforeseen  had  transpired  unbeknownst  to  you, 
such  as  his  sudden  death  or  a  necessary  visit  to  Chi- 

tzSJL~tL-  -<ie>  ,-yX-o-^.JL  ^u^t^v.  Of*  Mil  *  v«,».r^a*y^»  /  f  a  _^    i     t  ^ 
°     '   r  J  .  .  Tf<Y  •  <r\  -^^"^        i^*»  slf  fl^>  /J,  'f ^  <Afi,»  J+ln^t 

Upstairs  there  was  a  commodious  smoking-room 
where  the  window-shades  were  always  down.  Round 
tables  covered  with  green  felt,  surrounded  by  leather- 
bottomed  chairs,  stood  on  a  carpeted  floor,  so  thickly 
padded  that  the  footstep  of  the  heaviest  individual 
gave  forth  no  sound.  Except  for  a  few  gaudy  prints 
of  a  sporting  nature,  there  were  no  other  articles  of 
furniture  or  decoration  in  this  room.  Men  addicted 
to  prolonged  fits  of  smoking  frequently  sat  around 
these  tables  all  night  long,  and  some  of  them  went 
home  at  daybreak  with  hundreds  of  dollars  in  their 
pockets  while  others  went  forth  with  barely  the  price 
of  a  breakfast  in  theirs. 

Poker  was  the  only  game  played,  and  you  couldn't 
get  into  the  "  smoking-room  "  without  being  carefully 
scrutinized  and  properly  introduced.  The  frequenters 
of  this  room  were  very  particular  about  who  got  into 
their  midst,  and  at  the  slightest  suspicious  sound  from 
without  chips  and  cards  disappeared  into  nowhere 


10  SHERRY 

with  the  most  amazing  celerity  and  completeness.  Po- 
licemen had  visited  this  room  somewhat  abruptly  on 
more  than  one  occasion,  and  they  had  always  found 
the  occupants  smoking  placidly,  and  engaged  in  inno^ 
cent,  even  desultory  conversations.  Roulette  and  faro 
lay-outs  never  had  found  their  way  into  the  "  smok- 
ing-room." They  were  self-convicting  contrivances 
and  as  such  had  no  place  in  a  respectable  and  orderly 
establishment,  such  as  the  Sunbeam  professed  to  be 
even  in  the  face  of  ill-timed  and  likewise  ill-fated  cru- 
sades on  the  part  of  certain  church-going  individuals 
who  insinuated  a  great  deal  to  the  contrary.  A  "  gen- 
tleman's game  "  was  the  only  one  tolerated  in  the  room 
above  the  saloon;  you  were  no  gentleman  if  you  com- 
plained about  your  losses  or  boasted  of  your  win- 
nings. 

The  population  of  Farragut  was  not  a  matter  of 
doubt,  notwithstanding  the  vast  statistical  gulf  that 
lay  between  the  figures  of  a  malignant  census-bureau 
and  those  supplied  by  reliable  and  loyal  citizens.  It 
was  absolutely  impossible  to  doubt  the  statements  of 
the  latter  without  inviting  trouble,  and,  as  the  census- 
bureau  was  a  homeless  and  indifferent  institution  born 
to  be  execrated  by  every  intelligent  man,  woman  and 
child  in  the  United  States  of  America,  no  one  could 
possibly  get  into  trouble  by  denouncing  its  functionar- 
ies as  liars,  thieves,  malefactors  and  even  idiots.  Not 
a  person  in  Farragut  doubted  for  an  instant.  There 
•were  27,332  inhabitants,  exclusive  of  cemeteries, —  just 
10,201  more  than  reported  by  the  census-takers. 

The  Morning  Dispatch  took  a  census  of  its  own. 
The  Dispatch  had  a  "  bona-fide  "  circulation  of  4,627. 


SHERRY  11 

It  owed  a  fair  and  just  count  of  noses  to  its  subscrib- 
ers; it  announced  editorially  that  it  couldn't  sleep 
until  it  had  rectified  the  mischief  done  by  the  United 
States  government;  it  would  set  Farragut  right  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world.  And  when  the  result  of  its  count 
was  announced  and  Farragut  was  found  indisputably 
to  be  all  that  it  claimed  to  have  been,  not  only  in  the 
matter  of  noses  but  in  mouths  as  well,  the  things  that 
were  said  about  the  miscreants  who  granted  the  city 
a  paltry  17,131  souls  must  have  been  heard  in  heaven, 
for  at  the  very  next  election  the  Republicans  were 
turned  out  of  office  and  the  whole  country  went  Demo- 
cratic; Oddly,  however,  the  vote  in  Farragut  was  412 
short  of  that  cast  in  the  election  of  1908, —  a  circum- 
stance that  puzzled  even  the  most  sanguine  of  "  boost- 
ers," for  it  was  generally  believed  that  every  eligible 
citizen  had  done  his  duty  at  the  polls.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  not  a  few  of  them  got  into  rather  serious  trou- 
ble by  doing  it  twice. 

Farragut  is  about  one  hundred  miles  from  Chicago. 
It  was  its  proudest  boast  that  it  had  been  a  thriving 
little  city  when  Chicago  was  a  mere  trading  post  at 
the  foot  of  Lake  Michigan  —  or  was  it  Lake  Superior? 
There  once  was  a  time  when  travelling  theatrical  and 
minstrel  troupes  "  played  "  Farragut  and  never  even 
thought  of  going  to  Chicago.  The  oldest  inhabitant 
—  and  a  number  of  citizens  competed  for  the  distinc- 
tion if  not  the  honour  —  would  tell  you  that  he  could 
remember  the  time  when  he  had  to  pause  and  ponder 
before  recalling  the  name  of  the  measly  little  village 
on  the  Lake. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  features  of  Farragut 


12  SHERRY 

was  the  evergreen  memory  of  its  ancients.  The  older 
they  got,  the  better  their  memory  seemed  to  become. 
Judge  Emmons,  who  was  eighty-six,  remembered  things 
in  his  eighty-fifth  year  that  he  couldn't  possibly  have 
remembered  when  he  was  seventy.  He  had  reached  the 
safe  old  age  when  no  one  in  Farragut  could  dispute  a 
thing  he  said.  The  death  of  Col.  Jilson,  at  ninety-two, 
cleared  his  memory  to  a  wonderful  extent.  As  long  as 
Col.  Jilson  remained  alive  and  in  possession  of  his  fac- 
ulties, Judge  Emmons  had  to  be  exceedingly  sparing 
with  his  reminiscences.  Occasionally  they  got  to  Col. 
Jilson's  ears  and  his  comments  were  such  that  people 
experienced  considerable  difficulty  in  deciding  which  of 
the  two  old  gentlemen  it  was  safest  to  believe. 

One  of  the  oldest  and  most  firmly  established  fam- 
ilies in  Farragut  was  that  to  which  Sheridan  Redpath 
belonged.  Belonged  is  hardly  the  proper  word  in  this 
case,  however;  the  family  had  disowned  him.  Two 
uncles  and  an  aunt,  with  at  least  a  dozen  first  cousins 
and  no  end  of  seconds  and  thirds,  pronounced  him  a 
disgrace  to  the  family,  and  looked  blank  when  his 
name  was  mentioned,  as  if  to  say :  "  Who  is  this  fel- 
low that  bears  our  name?  " 

His  forebears  came  to  Farragut  early  in  the  nine- 
teenth century,  when  the  town  was  a  civilization  out- 
post, and  for  more  than  one  hundred  years  the  name 
of  Redpath  had  been  associated  with  its  life  and  des- 
tinies. Only  one  other  bearer  of  the  name  had  been 
a  disgrace  to  the  family,  and  that  was  so  long  before 
the  Civil  War  that  the  present-day  Redpaths  could 
hardly  be  called  snobbish  for  failing  to  remember  his 


SHERRY  18 

existence,  much  less  the  fact  that  he  had  been  shot  as 
a  horse-thief. 

Sheridan's  father  was  the  eldest  of  his  generation. 
He  died  when  the  boy  was  eighteen  and  in  his  sopho- 
more year  at  college.  His  estate  was  small.  For  rea- 
sons best  known  to  himself  he  had,  soon  after  his  mar- 
riage, deeded  to  his  wife  practically  all  of  the  real- 
estate  of  which  he  was  possessed.  Subsequent  litiga- 
tion proved  the  wisdom  of  this  course,  for  creditors 
who  descended  upon  him  after  his  failure  in  business, 

—  he  owned  and  conducted  several  big  grain  elevators, 

—  found   themselves   unable  to   collect   on  judgments 
and  were  obliged  to  sit  back  and  see  their  debtor  live 
in  plenty  if  not  luxury  on  the  fruits  of  his  foresight- 
edness.     His  wife,  quite  well-off  in  her  own  right,  re- 
ceived the  rents  and  paid  the  taxes  on  the  one-time 
property  of  her  husband,  and  creditors  could  do  no 
more  than  "  grin  and  bear  it."     It  is  worthy  of  record 
that  Redpath,  Senior,  acting  as  her  agent,  made  the  col- 
lections himself  and  deposited  the  money  to  her  account 
in  the  banks;  also  that  he  devoted  six  days  in  each 
week  to  living  up  to  a  reputation  for  business  sagacity, 
and  the  seventh  to  living  it  down. 

He  was  a  deacon  in  the  church. 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  was  not  until  after  Sheridan  Redpath  left  col- 
lege with  his  hard-earned  degree,  and  an  enviable 
record  at  both  guard  and  tackle  on  the  unhal- 
lowed scrub  eleven,  that  he  fell  into  evil  ways. 

Strict  adherence  to  a  promise  not  to  drink  did  not 
deprive  him  of  the  right  to  indulge  in  other  dissipa- 
tion. Well-supplied  with  money,  he  went  through  col- 
lege without  learning  the  first  thing  about  its  value. 
He  acquired  a  great  deal  of  utterly  useless  knowledge 
,  about  the  things  that  made  of  him  a  Bachelor  of  Arts, 
and  failed  significantly  to  learn  how  to  make  anything 
else  of  himself.  A  native  brightness  aided  him  in  get- 
ting through  without  a  great  deal  of  study.  Only  at 
examination  periods  was  it  necessary  for  him  to  labour 
seriously;  the  remainder  of  the  time  he  took  life  easily 
and  found  it  agreeable.  He  acquired  no  grasp  on  self- 
dependence,  no  initiative  aside  from  that  which  had  to 
do  with  pleasure,  no  symptom  of  a  real  purpose  in  life. 
He  overlooked  the  fact  that  he  possessed  one  of  the 
rarest  traits  in  human  character :  —  determination. 
The  fact  that  he  had  no  thought,  no  inclination  to 
break  his  promise  to  his  mother  produced  no  effect 
whatsoever  upon  his  own  estimate  of  himself.  He 
knew  dozens  of  fellows  in  his  classes  who  had  made  sim- 
ilar vows  to  their  parents,  and  who  broke  them  with- 
out compunction.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  feel  that 
he  was  made  of  stronger  stuff  than  they. 

14 


SHERRY  15 

Self-indulgence,  made  possible  by  a  too  lavish  gen- 
erosity and  an  unconscionable  stupidity  on  the  part 
of  his  adoring  mother,  led  him,  with  amiable  disregard 
for  consequences,  into  the  wildest  forms  of  pleasure. 
He  spent  money  freely,  recklessly.  It  signified  noth- 
ing to  him  except  through  its  power  to  meet  the  chal- 
lenges of  folly.  His  frequent  and  surreptitious  trips 
to  New  York  were  never-to-be-forgotten  whirlwinds  of 
j  oy.  He  raked  Broadway  fore  and  aft ;  the  popular 
bars  and  restaurants  and  dance-halls  knew  him  well, 
and  the  denizens  thereof  marvelled  not  a  little  over 
the  joy  he  got  out  of  life  without  the  aid  of  liquor 

New  York  will  never  understand  how  a  total  ab- 
stainer  can  have  any  fun  in  life.  This  youngster  was 
a  mystery ;  he  was  incredible.  His  tremendous  vitality, 
cradled  and  developed  by  the  strong  and  mighty  West, 
carried  him  along  at  top  speed  all  of  the  time.  He 
set  a  pace  that  but  few  of  his  fellows  even  attempted 
to  follow,  and  those  who  did  so  fell  swiftly  behind. 

Being  a  Western  boy,  he  assumed  that  the  only  way 
to  make  a  place  for  himself  in  an  Eastern  college  was 
to  equal  if  not  to  excel  in  pernicious  activities.  He 
met  the  arrogance  of  the  East  with  a  ruthlessness  that 
swept  it  aside  and  gave  him  a  fair,  clear  field.  An  un- 
sound popularity  was  his  reward.  His  unfailing  good 
nature,  his  buoyant  spirits,  his  sporting  integrity,  his 
more  or  less  old-fashioned  repugnance  for  foul  lan- 
guage, his  utter  independence,  a  quaint  sort  of  mod- 
esty, and,  above  all,  his  incomprehensible  scorn  for  the 
cup  that  cheers,  gained  for  him  a  certain  distinction, 
but  it  was  not  the  kind  of  distinction  that  endures. 

Except  for  his  misapplied  energies  he  would  have 


16  SHERRY 

earned  for  himself  a  lasting  and  enviable  place  among 
the  heroes  of  that  particular  college.  *&++-i*f* 

He  was  in  college  a  full  year  before  he  realized  that 
profligacy  is  not  the  surest  way  to  the  hearts  of  the 
level-headed.  He  was  conscious  at  first  of  a  bitter 
disappointment  over  the  penury  of  certain  rich  men's 
sons;  later  on  he  came  to  recognize  this  feeling  as 
nothing  less  than  disillusionment.  The  really  worth- 
while fellows  with  millionaire  fathers,  he  discovered 
to  his  amazement  and  disgust,  got  along  on  one-third 
the  allowance  he  demanded,  and  were  seldom  hard-up. 
In  time  he  began  to  contrast  these  poverty-stricken 
millionaires  with  the  vulgar,  showy,  new-rich  fellows 
whose  funds  were  unlimited,  and  in  his  wild,  shamed 
young  heart  he  despaired.  He  was  not  the  "  real 
stuff  " ;  he  was  one  of  the  money-spending  muckers. 
The  thought  of  it  hurt  him  more  than  he  care4  to  ad- 
mit, even  to  himself/', 

7  m  B  -'o-a^x^-A. -^  **J<.A  >lCuJ  *-?j»  I 

Believing  himself  doomed  to  a  place  among  the 
muckers,  he  cast  restraint  to  the  wind  and  increased 
his  excesses.  He  despised  the  profligates  as  deeply 
and  as  utterly  as  any  one  else  in  college;  there  was  a 
grain  of  comfort  for  him  in  the  belief  that  if  he  re-  , 
framed  from  drinking  as  they  drank  he  would  not  be 
put  in  a  class  with  them.  It  was  his  rather  pitiful 
boast  that  he  didn't  "  trail "  that  crowd,  and  yet  he 
knew  that  it  was  with  them  that  he  really  belonged. 

He  had  the  instincts  of  the  true  gambler.  His 
methods  were  daring  yet  cautious.  In  his  senior  year 
he  was  regarded  as  the  shrewdest  card-player  in  col- 
lege. Fair-minded,  wild-hearted  lad  that  he  was,  he 
never  rejoiced  in  winning  from  his  friends.  To  them 


SHERRY  17 

he  preferred  to  lose.  It  went  against  the  grain  to 
"  clean  out "  the  fellows  he  liked,  and  who,  as  he  knew, 
in  most  cases  could  ill-afford  to  lose. 

Once  and  only  once  did  he  sit  in  a  game  of  poker 
with  the  "  vulgar  rich,"  as  he  called  the  little  coterie 
of  outsiders.  The  news  went  around  next  day,  fol- 
lowing an  all-night  session  in  the  Babylonian  apart- 
ment of  a  spoilt  young  New  Yorker,  that  Sherry  Red- 
path  had  "  trimmed  "  them  in  a  most  historic  manner. 
Stories  of  his  "  winnings  "  varied.  The  lowest  figures 
breathed  by  sophisticated  seniors  put  them  at  two 
thousand  dollars,  while  one  freshman  wrote  to  a  friend 
in  Harvard  that  Sherry  had  won  a  trifle  over  one  hun- 
dred thousand.  The  whole  student-body  rejoiced, 
not  over  his  winning  but  because  the  others  had  lost. 
Deceived  by  the  universal  glee,  he  took  upon  himself 
a  great  deal  of  glory;  he  found  comfort  and  happi- 
ness in  the  belief  that  his  fellows  were  grateful  to  him 
for  having  "  massacred  "  the  Philistines. 

For  many  a  day  he  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  su- 
preme self-exaltation,  only  to  come  smashing  to  earth 
with  the  sickening  discovery  that  he  was  not  wanted 
in  the  exclusive  senior  society  for  which  his  name 
had  been  proposed.  He  was,  in  a  sense,  blackballed. 
He  never  got  over  the  sting  of  that  humiliating  and, 
to  him,  astonishing  slap  in  the  face.  It  meant,  in 
plain  words,  that  he  wasn't  desirable. 

He  left  college  hating  ,the  years  he  had  spent  there, 
despising  himself  for  his  mistakes,  scoffing  at  the  de- 
gree he  carried  home  to  his  mother,  and  cursing  the 
ill-fated  loyalty  that  ordered  him  to  sacrifice  his 
strength  and  good-nature  for  three  successive  sea- 


18  SHERRY 

sons  to  the  development  of  the  'varsity  foot-ball  eleven 
when,  as  viewed  in  retrospect,  he  was  certainly  entitled 
to  a  place  in  the  first  squad  instead  of  among  the 
drudging,  buffeted  scrubs.  It  never  occurred  to  him, 
in  his  sullen  fury,  that  abstinence  from  alcohol  is  not 
the  only  requirement  exacted  by  the  trainers  and 
coaches. 

His  mother,  still  bejieving  him  to  be  impeccable, 
pursued  her  course  of  folly ;  she  sent  him  off  on  a  lux- 
urious and  extended  trip  around  the  world. 

He  was  in  upper  India  when  she  died,  quite  suddenly. 
Many  days  went  by  before  word  of  her  death  reached 
him  in  Bombay. 

Since  leaving  college, —  and  with  her  tacit  consent, 
if  not  actual  approval, —  he  had  abandoned  his  stand 
in  regard  to  strong  drink, —  (it  was  her  stand,  not  his, 
he  was  wont  to  argue), —  taking  to  the  mild  indulgence 
that  is  supposed  to  establish  manhood  on  the  estate 
once  occupied  by  adolescence.  His  mother  had  cried 
a  little  over  him,  though  she  managed  also  to  smile, 
when  he  came  home  a  bit  tipsy  for  the  first  time. 

He  was  careful  after  that,  and  drank  sparingly. 
He  did  not  like  the  tipple  he  was  taking  in  order  to 
become  a  man.  During  the  two  or  three  months  of 
idleness  at  home  prior  to  the  long  trip  around  the 
world,  his  behaviour  was  quite  exemplary.  Despite  the 
raw  edges  left  by  his  disappointments  at  college  and 
the  consequent  grudge  against  fate,  he  managed  to 
conduct  himself  so  admirably,  that  he  was  in  danger 
of  being  referred  to  as  a  "  molly-coddle."  It  was 
not  until  he  was  far  off  in  the  Orient  that  he  found 
pleasure  and  stimulation  in  drink.  He  fell  in  with 


SHERRY  19 

brandy-drinking  Englishmen  and  expatriated  Amer- 
icans in  Japan  and  China,  where  drink  is  food,  and, 
still  disliking  the  stuff,  drank  steadily  and  heavily  be- 
cause it  was  his  nature  to  excel, —  if  such  is  the  word, 
—  in  any  contest  with  his  fellow-man. 

The  death  of  his  mother,  whom  he  loved  with  all 
his  wild,  hungry  heart,  was  the  final,  desolating  trag- 
edy. The  winds  from  that  day  on  took  care  of  his 
development.  He  sowed  with  the  wind  and  he  reaped 
with  it  as  well. 

A  fortune  of  three  hundred  thousand  dollars  came 
to  him  as  recompense  for  the  loss  of  the  one  person 
whom  he  loved  and  who,  he  believed,  was  the  only  one 
to  love  him.  He  despised  the  money.  He  could  look 
upon  it  only  as  something  substituted  for  that  of 
which  he  had  been  robbed,  something  in  the  shape  of 
palliation,  something  he  ought  to  be  thankful  for  be- 
cause it  is  the  beloved  of  all  mankind. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  go  into  the  history  of  the  next 
five  years.  Young  Redpath  went  the  pace  that  kills. 
Money  ran  through  his  fingers  like  water  through  a 
sieve.  He  drank  and  gambled  and  squandered  with 
such  amazing  recklessness  and  perseverance  that  even 
to  him  the  end  was  soon  in  sight.  He  did  not  have  to 
be  told  by  the  wise  men  of  the  town  that  he  was  going 
to  the  devil.  He  knew  it  quite  as  well  as  they,  and  he 
did  not  resent  their  well-meant  advice.  In  fact,  he 
rather  enjoyed  having  them  preach  to  him,  for  it  gave 
him  many  a  laugh  that  otherwise  he  might  have  missed ! 

Paris,  London,  Monte  Carlo,  Rome, —  all  of  them, — 
took  tribute  from  him.  His  trips  to  New  York  and 
Chicago  were  referred  to  as  "  classic "  by  envious 


£0  SHERRY 

would-be  sports  in  Farragut,  but  they  were  looked 
upon  as  something  else  by  the  fathers  and  mothers  of 
these  same  young  men.  His  name  was  the  synonym  of 
all  the  vices  known  to  man.  He  was  pitied  and  feared 
and  scorned  by  every  soul  in  Farragut.  Small  chil- 
dren were  told  that  they  would  grow  up  to  be  like 
Sherry  Redpath  if  "  they  didn't  behave." 

Strange  as  it  may  appear,  his  degradation  was  not 
in  any  sense  accelerated  by  the  central  figure  in  the 
well-known  trinity:  wine,  women  and  song.  A  singu- 
lar, almost  unnatural  wisdom  preserved  him  from  the 
wiles  of  the  women  who  despoil.  He  was  uncanny  in 
his  ability  to  avoid  the  gravest  of  all  co-operatives  in 
the  career  of  the  squanderer.  He  had  no  respect  for 
man,  but  he  succeeded  in  keeping  his  respect  for 
woman.  Evil  in  woman  was  repulsive  to  him.  He  re- 
fused to  look  upon  the  bad  woman,  and  the  good 
woman  was  not  allowed  to  look  upon  him.  Of  this 
state  of  affairs  he  was  acutely  sensible.  So  he  avoided 
both  the  good  and  the  bad,  and  owed  nothing  to  either. 

And  then  came  the  day  when  he  had  to  pause  and 
take  stock  of  himself  and  his  affairs.  He  estimated 
himself  on  a  piece  of  hotel  notepaper.  His  hand  was 
unsteady,  his  eye  wavering,  but  his  brain  was  strangely 
clear.  Piled  in  front  of  him  were  a  score  of  bills,  long 
overdue, —  his  tailor  and  hatter  and  all  the  rest  of 
them.  His  check-book  revealed  the  extent  of  his  bal- 
ance in  bank, —  all  that  was  left  of  the  handsome  for- 
tune handed  down  by  his  mother.  He  had  had  no 
drink  that  day.  For  half  an  hour  he  wrote  checks,  a 
grim  smile  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  a  frown  in  his 
eyes.  His  extreme  gravity  in  purchasing  fifty  cents' 


SHERRY  21 

worth  of  stamps  at  the  news-stand  so  impressed  the 
young  lady  behind  the  counter  that  she  assisted  him  in 
licking  and  putting  them  on  the  hotel  envelopes.  Then 
he  went  to  the  desk  and  paid  for  the  stationery,  much 
to  the  clerk's  surprise,  and  also  demanded,  with  con- 
siderable impressement,  his  bill  for  the  past  six  weeks. 
It  amounted  to  ninety-seven  dollars  and  thirty-five 
cents.  This  called  for  further  calculations  on  the  sur- 
face of  a  blotting  pad,  together  with  countless  attempts 
to  subtract  something  from  something  else  on  the  last 
stub  in  his  check-book.  Finally  he  gave  forth  a  deep 
sigh  of  relief  —  and  triumph  —  and  asked  for  the  loan 
of  a  fountain-pen.  He  had  conquered  his  balance 
completely.  Handing  over  the  check  to  the  clerk,  he 
said: 

"  Give  me  the  rest  in  cash,  Harry, —  two  dollars  and 
ninety-three  cents." 

Receiving  the  cash  and  the  receipted  bill,  he  made 
his  way  down  the  sweltering  street  to  the  stand  of 
Nicky  the  bootblack. 

"  Polish  'em  up,  Nicky,"  he  said,  taking  his  seat  in 
the  chair.  "How  much  do  I  owe  you?"  he  inquired, 
later  on,  squinting  at  the  highly  polished  shoes.  "  I 
mean  all-told." 

Nicky  consulted  his  vest-pocket  ledger,  a  look  of  res- 
ignation in  his  eyes.  Was  he  about  to  have  ten  cents 
added  to  the  account? 

"  One  dollar  sixty-five,  Mr.  Redpath,"  said  he, 
gloomily. 

"  Take  it  out  of  this,"  said  Sherry  magnificently, 
thrusting  a  two-dollar  bill  into  the  little  Italian's  hand. 

He  jingled  the  change  in  his  pocket  as  he  sauntered 


22  SHERRY 

away,  leaving  Nicky  in  such  a  state  of  excitement  that 
he  ran  after  him  for  fifteen  or  twenty  paces,  trying  to 
wipe  invisible  specks  of  dust  from  the  far  from  sta- 
tionary extremities  of  his  late  customer  and  debtor. 

The  spendthrift  dropped  in  at  the  little  flower  shop 
near  the  corner,  where  he  bought  a  gay  boutonniere. 
The  young  lady  pinned  it  on  the  lapel  of  his  crumpled 
blue  serge  coat. 

"  Sprucing  up  a  bit  today,  old  sport,"  said  she,  with 
fine  disregard  for  conventionality.  "  What's  the  mat- 
ter? Goin'  to  a  masquerade?  " 

"  How  much?  "  said  he,  ignoring  the  flippancy. 

"  Fifteen  centuaries,"  said  she.  "  Two  for  a  ko- 
vort.  Better  take  two.  Then  you'll  be  sure  you're 
seein'  two  instead  of  one." 

"  Hush,  Minnie,"  said  he  gently,  and  strolled  away. 

Presently  he  entered  the  Sunbeam.  He  was  square 
with  the  world  and  still  had  ten  cents  in  his  pocket. 
He  did  not  owe  a  penny  to  anybody. 

An  hour  later  the  owner  of  the  saloon  came  into 
the  place.  He  was  likewise  the  owner  of  the  biggest 
brewery  in  the  town.  Redpath  was  sound  asleep  in  a 
chair  under  one  of  the  boundary  palms. 

"  Throw  him  out  o'  here,  Burke,"  growled  the  owner, 
glaring  at  the  flushed,  perspiring  face  of  the  sleeper. 
"  This  ain't  a  drunkards'  home.  He's  nothing  but 
a  bum  now,  and  you'll  have  him  sneakin'  in  here  every 
day  for  just  that  sort  of  thing  if  you  don't  nip  him 
at  the  start.  Throw  him  out.  It  don't  look  pretty 
havin'  a  loafer  like  that  — " 

"  He's  left  a  good  many  thousands  o'  dollars  on  this 
bar,  Herman,"  said  Patsy  absently. 


SHERRY  23 

"  Well,  he  got  his  money's  worth,  didn't  he  ?  " 

"  I'll  wake  him  up,"  said  the  barkeeper. 

"  Tell  him  to  get  out  and  stay  out." 

"  I  won't  have  to  do  that.  He  beat  me  to  it.  He 
ain't  coming  back  any  more.  He's  reformed." 

Herman  Schwick  stared.  "  Refor  —  well,  for  the 
love  o'— " 

Patsy  was  shaking  Redpath  gently  by  the  shoulder. 

"Wake  up,  Sherry.  You'll  ketch  cold  settin'  out 
here  in  the  woods." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  proprietor's  heart  smote  him.     He  knew 
how  it  felt  to  wake  up  with  a  head.     "  Say, 
Sherry,  have  a  drink  on  the  house.     It  will  do 
you  good.     Patsy,  fix  him  a  Tom  Collins." 

Redpath  straightened  up,  and  met  Schwick's  eye. 
"  Nothing  doing,  Herman.  Not  even  a  pick-me-up. 
I've  cut  it  out." 

"  You  need  a  bracer  to  — " 

"  No,  thank  you." 

Schwick  looked  troubled.  "  Men  don't  break  off 
sudden  like  this,  Sherry.  It's  bad.  Taper  off  grad- 
ually." 

Redpath  moved  toward  the  door.  He  was  quite 
steady  on  his  legs,  but  his  head  was  going  round. 

"  Guess  I'll  slip  out  before  the  regulars  ooze  in.  I 
can't  buy  drinks  for  'em  any  more,  Herman,  so  I'll  not 
use  up  valuable  space  waiting  for  some  one  else  to  thaw. 
So  long,  Patsy.  Good-bye,  little  Sunbeam ! "  His 
hand  described  a  sweeping  farewell  to  the  four  corners 
of  the  bar-room ;  a  whimsical  smile  spread  over  his  face. 
"  I  may  drop  in  again  all  togged  out  in  a  Salvation 
Army  suit,  passing  my  little  tin  box  around  for  spare 
change,  or  I  may  come  in  as  the  iceman,  but  otherwise, 
—  never  again !  So  fare-thee-well,  merry  Sunbeam. 
Good-bye,  palm  trees  and  free-lunch, —  and  good-bye, 

booze !  "i£^tr4u!£^ 

Patsy  followe'd  him  to  the  door.     Except  for  Her- 

24 


SHERRY  £5 

man  Schwick,  in  his  crisp  linen  suit,  the  bar  was  empty. 
The  court-house  clock  was  banging  the  hour  of  six. 
The  sidewalk  was  almost  deserted.  Pedestrians  were 
using  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  keeping  to  the 
shade. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Sherry?  Still  got  your 
room  in  the  Tremont  ?  " 

"  No.  I've  got  two  suit-cases  and  a  hat  box  in  the 
check-room  over  there,  but  —  I  say,  Patsy,  have  you 
any  use  for  a  silk  hat  ?  " 

"  I  never  go  to  funerals,"  said  Patsy,  without  a 
smile.  "  See  here,  what  are  you  going  to  do  for  grub 
and  a  place  to  — " 

"  Patsy,"  said  Redpath,  with  extreme  gravity, 
"  I'm  going  to  be  a  squirrel  and  live  on  nuts.  I've 
taken  lodgings  up  in  Compton's  Woods, —  a  large,  airy 
room  trimmed  with  oak  and  elm  and  with  a  nice  green 
carpet  that  stretches  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see. 
There's  where  I'm  going  to  sleep  while  the  weather  lasts. 
I'll  get  plenty  of  fresh  air  on  these  hot  nights,  and 
there's  running  water  with  fish  in  it  right  at  my  elbow. 
All  I'll  have  to  do  is  to  roll  into  Burton's  Creek  and 
roll  right  out  again.  Beats  drawing  a  bath  all  to 
smash.  Don't  worry  about  me,  Patsy.  I'm  young 
and  I  used  to  be  strong.  I'm  going  to  sleep  almost  as 
long  as  Rip  Van  Winkle  did,  and  when  I  get  up  you 
won't  know  me  for  the  whiskers.  Nobody  will  know 
me.  That's  how  I'm  going  to  deceive  my  prospective 
employer.  He  won't  know  until  it's  too  late  that  I'm 
me  and  not  old  Santa  Claus.  Excuse  me  if  I  run  along 
and  — " 

"  Say,  boy,  I'm  worried  about  you,"  said  the  bar- 


26  SHERRY 

keeper,  looking  over  his  shoulder  anxiously.  "  You 
ought  to  be  'round  where  you  can  have  attention  if 
you  — " 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  that  far  gone.  I'll  not  get  the  dee- 
tees." 

"  But  you  can't  stop  short  with  your  hide  full  of  the 
stuff,  you  know.  You'll  get  sick  or  — " 

"If  I  do  I'll  call  in  old  Doc'  Nature,"  said  the 
young  man,  affecting  airiness. 

Patsy  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  I  like  you, 
Redpath,"  he  said,  seriously.  "  You've  played  hell 
with  your  life,  and  I've  watched  you  doin'  it,  and 
couldn't  say  a  word.  Now,  I  believe  you  got  it  in  you 
to  buck  up  and  be  a  credit  to  yourself  and  this  here 
town.  The  only  way  to  do  it,  though,  is  to  get  started 
right.  You  got  to  get  braced  up  and  all  set  for  the 
start.  Fve  got  a  closed-in  porch  up  at  my  house  on 
Ellum  Street  and  a  swingin'  hammick  in  it.  All  you've 
got  to  do  is  to  drop  in  late  of  evenin's,  after  the  kid- 
dies are  in  bed,  and  the  Missus  and  me  will  — " 

"  That's  —  that's  awfully  good  of  you,  Patsy,"  in- 
terrupted Sherry,  his  face  turning  a  darker  red.  He 
looked  away  suddenly.  "  I  couldn't  think  of  bothering 
your  wife  and  — " 

"  No  bother  at  all.     Nothing  to  it !  " 

"  Thanks, —  but  I  think  I'll  stick  to  Compton's 
Woods." 

"  Anyhow,  in  case  it  rains  you  can  hike  down  to  my 
house  and  turn  in  on  the  porch.  And  I'll  fix  you  up 
with  coffee  and  — " 

"  You're  awfully  good,"  repeated  the  young  man, 
his  voice  husky.  "  Awfully."  Then,  after  a  moment, 


SHERRY  27 

he  squared  his  shoulders  and  smiled.  "  But  I  shan't 
need  help.  I'm  going  to  fight  it  out  alone.  Never 
mind  about  me.  As  soon  as  I  get  pulled  together  a  bit, 
I'll  get  out  after  a  job.  I  don't  care  what  it  is,  I'll 
take  it.  I'll  sweep  streets  or  curry  horses,  or  any- 
thing. So  long.  I  think  I'll  sneak  up  to  Compton's 
Woods  now  and  pick  out  a  nice  mossy  bed  and  —  turn 
in.  I  need  just  forty-eight  hours'  sleep." 

He  started  away.  Patsy  called  out  after  him: 
"  Keep  out  o'  the  sun,  kid.  It's  ninety-two  right  now. 
And  don't  forget  about  the  hammick." 

"  I  won't,"  said  Sherry,  without  looking  back. 

He  slept  under  the  moon  and  stars  that  hot,  stifling 
night.  Below  him  lay  the  town,  its  sweltering  thou- 
sands gasping  for  a  breath  of  refreshing  air.  Not  a 
leaf  stirred  in  the  trees  above  his  grassy  bed.  Before 
he  dropped  off  to  sleep,  his  mind  flew  back  to  the  days 
when,  as  a  child,  he  had  looked  upon  the  dark,  for- 
bidding vastnesses  of  Compton's  Woods  on  the  lofty 
hill  as  the  abode  of  bandits,  imps  and  all  the  foul  crea- 
tures with  which  nursemaids  threaten  the  noisy  and 
sleepless  when  they  have  made  sure  that  no  one  else  is 
listening.  He  grinned  sleepily  as  he  looked,  blear-eyed 
and  stupid,  into  the  still,  peaceful  clouds  of  foliage 
overhead,  and  pictured  himself  at  the  tender  age  of 
six  howling  his  lungs  out  in  terror  at  the  very  thought 
of  being  alone  at  night  in  Compton's  Woods.  There 
had  been  nightmares,  peopled  by  the  most  horrific  bogi- 
men ;  the  mere  mention  of  Compton's  Woods  chastened 
him  as  no  reprimand  could  have  done.  And  what  a 
quiet,  harmless,  dull  place  it  was,  after  all! 

The  barking  of  a  dog  put  an  end  to  his  reflections. 


28  SHERRY 

He  was  suddenly  conscious  of  a  glare  in  his  eyes,  but 
many  minutes  passed  before  he  realized  that  it  was 
broad  daylight  and  that  he  was  staring  up  through  an 
aperture  in  the  tree-tops  at  a  fiercely  white  sky. 
The  barking  of  the  dog  continued, —  sharp,  staccato, 
very  business-like  barks. 

He  rolled  over  on  his  side,  blinking,  and  discovered 
an  audience  of  two  hard-by :  a  barefoot  boy  of  ten  and 
a  bristling  fox  terrier.  They  were  not  ten  feet  away 
and  both  were  eyeing  him  with  an  equally  vast  interest, 
not  to  say  alarm.  With  his  abrupt,  convulsive  move- 
ment the  dog  retreated  a  few  paces,  but  the  boy,  per- 
haps through  sheer  inability  to  stir  his  stumps,  re- 
mained motionless. 

"What  do  you  want?"  demanded  Redpath,  more 
gruffly  than  he  knew. 

The  boy  began  slowly  to  edge  away. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  "  he  went  on,  more  gently,  rubbing 
his  hot,  smarting  eyes. 

"  Gee,"  gasped  the  boy,  "  you  are  alive,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"Alive?  Well,  I  should  hope  so.  Is  it  rumoured 
that  I  am  dead?" 

"  I  never  saw  a  dead  man.  You  looked  like  you 
might  be  one.  But  I  guess  I'll  be  going.  Huh, 
Sport ! "  With  more  haste  than  seemed  really  neces- 
sary the  youngster  scooted  for  the  fence  that  paral- 
leled the  distant  roadway,  preceded  with  even  more 
unseemly  haste  by  Sport. 

After  a  moment,  Sherry  sat  up  and  laughed, —  not 
a  hearty,  joyous  effort ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  a  pain- 
ful one. 

"  I'd  run  too,"  he  commented,  aloud.     "  Well,  it's  to- 


SHERRY  29 

,"  he  reflected,  a  puzzled  scowl  on  his  brow. 
"  W'hen  did  it  arrive  ?  Where  did  it  come  from  so 
sud  — "  He  fumbled  for  his  watch,  and  gazed  dizzily  at 
its  bronze  face.  It  was  nearly  one  o'clock.  "  Holy 
Smoke !  One  o'clock, —  and  it  must  be  afternoon. 
Get  up,  Rip!  You've  slept  long  enough.  It  may  be 
next  week  for  all  you  know.  No,  it's  only  tomorrow," 
he  decided  shrewdly.  "  Watch  would  have  stopped  — 
Oh,  what  a  thirst !  " 

He  was  lying  on  a  mossy  bank  at  the  edge  of  Bur- 
ton's Creek, —  a  clear,  cool,  swift  little  stream  that 
gurgled  appealingly.  Crawling  down  to  the  edge  he 
plunged  his  hot  face  into  the  water.  He  well  knew  it 
would  be  cold,  for  there  were  springs  in  the  hill  above 
that  fed  the  stream.  Drinking  his  fill,  he  sank  back 
refreshed. 

"  Too  late  to  take  my  tub,"  he  mused,  regretfully. 
"  Must  get  up  earlier  after  this,  if  I'm  to  have  a  bath." 
Leaning  back  against  the  huge  trunk  of  a  tree,  he  rum- 
inated lazily,  hazily. 

He  craved  something,  but  it  was  not  food.  His 
throat  was  parched,  his  skin  felt  tight  and  drawn,  his 
eyes  ached.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he  ought  to  be 
hungry, —  very  hungry, —  and  then  came  the  whimsical 
notion  that  if  he  could  fall  asleep  again  it  wouldn't 
in  the  least  matter  whether  he  was  hungry  or  not. 

"  It's  cheaper  to  sleep  than  it  is  to  eat,"  he  reflected, 
and  rolled  over  into  the  shade. 

When  next  he  opened  his  eyes  he  was  in  absolute 
darkness. 

A  hoarse  voice  assailed  his  ears.  He  had  just  been 
dreaming  of  a  thunder-storm. 


80  SHERRY 

'*  Wake  up ;  ye've  had  sleep  enough  for  a  lifetime." 

"  Who  the  —  who  is  it  ?  "  cried  Sherry,  sitting  up, 
blinking  his  eyes.  He  could  distinguish  nothing  except 
the  bulky,  indistinct  trunks  of  trees,  nothing —  Ah, 
one  of  them  was  moving !  And  it  was  from  this  mo- 
bile tree-trunk  that  the  voice  issued ! 

"  The  Czar  of  Roosia,"  announced  the  bulk  in  a  rich 
Irish  brogue.  A  brilliant  light  flashed  suddenly  upon 
the  rotund,  smiling  face  of  an  old  friend  and  supporter : 
Officer  Barney  Doyle,  as  genial  a  "  cop  "  as  ever  lived, 
and  a  good  one  too. 

"  Hello,  Barney,"  mumbled  Sherry.  "  Wha  —  what 
am  I  wanted  for?  " 

"  Bless  me  soul,"  cried  Barney  Doyle,  running  the 
light  of  his  dark  lantern  over  the  recumbent  figure, 
"  ye're  wanted  for  supper.  Have  ye  an  idee  what 
time  it  is?  Bedad,  it's  a  quarter  av  twelve.  Ye  must 
be  starved." 

"  Supper  ?  I'm  not  hung  —  yes,  I  am !  By  George, 
I  certainly  am  hungry!  I  never  was  so  hungry  in  my 
life.  Queer  how  suddenly  it  struck  me  — " 

"  Well,  I've  got  a  bountiful  repast  f er  ye,  as  they 
say  in  the  newspapers.  D'ye  mind  Patsy  Burke  at 
the  Sunbeam?  Well,  he  drops  in  at  roll-call  this 
evenin'  and  says  he  to  me,  *  Barney,  who's  workin'  the 
upper  half  av  the  Sixt'  Ward  nights?'  'No  wan  but 
meself,'  says  I  to  him.  *  Well,'  says  he,  'would  ye  know 
Sherry  Redpath  if  ye  were  to  see  him?'  'I  would,' 
says  I,  '  if  it  were  in  the  jungles  av  Africa.'  *  Thin,' 
says  he,  '  will  ye  do  me  a  favour  ?  He's  up  there  in 
Compton's  Woods  sleepin'  off  a  five-year  bun,  and  I'd 
like  ye  to  take  a  stroll  through  the  woods  this  night 


SHERRY  31 

and  see  if  ye  can  \o-cate  him.'  *  Compton's  Woods  ?  ' 
says  I.  *  Sure,'  says  he,  and  started  in  to  tell  me 
where  it  is,  a  refliction  on  me  ability  as  a  policeman, 
bad  luck  to  him.  '  It  is  not  on  me  beat,'  says  I ;  '  and 
besides  it's  a  dom  big  woods,'  says  I.  *  It'd  be  like 
lookin'  fer  a  needle  in  a  haystack.'  *  Thin  ye  won't  do 
me  the  favour?  '  says  he,  and  called  me  a  lot  o*  names 
I  wouldn't  take  from  another  soul  but  Patsy  Burke. 

*  I'd  do  anything  fer  ye,  Patsy,'  says  I,  '  but  I  can't 
spind  the  night  in  Compton's  Woods  lookin'  fer  any- 
thing short  av  an  assassin.     I  haven't  been  in  the  dom 
woods  since  I  was  a  boy.'     *  Well,'  says  he,  '  ye  pass  it 
by  a  half  dozen  times  every  night  av  your  life,  don't 
ye?     Couldn't  ye  stroll  in  and  take  a  look?     Ye  may 
be  the  means  av  savin'  a  man's  life.     Ye  wouldn't  want 
a  fellow  crature  to  freeze  to  death  all  alone  up  there 
in  the  woods,  would  ye  ?  '     '  Wid  the  temperature  at 
the  roastin'  point,'  I  says,  *  no,  I  wouldn't ;  and  I'll 
take  a  walk  t'rough  the  woods  fer  ye,  Patsy,'  says  I. 

*  Whin  ye  find  him,'  says  he,  *  give  him  this  box  of  grub ; 
and  tell  him  there's  a  small  lookin'  glass  and  a  razor 
and  soap  and  brush  in  the  bottom  av  the  box.     He's 
goin'  to  look  for  a  job,  and  I  don't  want  him  sawin' 
wood  in  people's  back-yards  like  a  long  whiskered  bum/ 
says  he.     So  here's  the  grub  and,  bedad,  on  me  own 
hook  I've  added  a  toot'  brush  I  bought  fer  ye.     Knowin' 
ye  as  I  do,  I  felt  certain  ye  wouldn't  be  carryin*  wan  in 
yer  vest  pocket." 

Redpath  listened  attentively  to  the  voluble  copper. 
He  was  as  hungry  as  a  bear,  but  he  wouldn't  have  in- 
terrupted Barney's  discourse  for  anything  in  the 
world. 


32  SHERRY 

"  It  was  mighty  fine  of  you,  Barney,  to  come  so 
far  out  of  your  way  to  — " 

"  God  love  ye,  lad,  I  enjoy  the  change.  Now  niver 
mind  thankin'  me.  Get  to  work  on  the  grub.  I'll  tell 
Patsy  I  seen  ye,  and  that  ye  are  as  well  as  could  be 
expicted."  He  flashed  his  light  in  all  directions  and 
then,  lowering  his  voice,  inquired :  "  Would  ye  be 
feelin'  the  need  av  a  drop  av  somethin'  to  pull  ye  to- 
gether? Say  the  word.  I  have  it  in  me  hip  pocket." 

"  No,  thank  you,  Barney.  I'm  drinking  nothing  but 
Burton's  Creek  now,"  said  Sherry,  with  a  grin.  "  If 
you  should  notice  that  the  creek  is  running  dry,  don't 
be  alarmed.  I've  drunk  barrels  of  it.  Have  you  ever 
tasted  water,  Barney?  " 

Barney  appeared  to  reflect.  "  I  have,"  he  said. 
"  It  was  once  when  I  fell  in  the  river  below  the  bridge 
and  swallied  a  couple  o'  buckets  of  it  before  they 
pulled  me  out.  As  I  renumber  it  now,  I  didn't  like  the 
stuff.  Well,  111  be  movin'  on.  So  long,  lad.  Save 
a  bite  o'  that  fer  the  breakfast.  Ye  might  stop  on  the 
way  downtown  in  the  morning  and  get  a  cup  av  coffee 
at  my  house.  I  live  at  14*33  Hooper  Street,  just  be- 
low here  a  bit.  I'll  tell  the  old  lady  to  —  Here,  what's 
the  matter  wid  ye?  There's  nothin'  to  be  blubberin' 
about,  lad.  Have  I  said  a  word  to  hurt  yer  feelin's  ?  " 

Sherry  had  buried  his  face  in  his  arm,  and  convul- 
sive sobs  shook  his  long  frame.  It  was  some  time  be- 
fore he  could  speak,  chokingly,  to  the  burly  policeman 
who  stood  over  him  and  marvelled. 

"  I'm  just  foolish,  that's  all,  Barney.  You  —  you 
are  awfully  kind.  I've  never  realized  what  it  meant 
to  have  any  one  kind  to  me,  because  I've  never  felt  that 


SHERRY  33 

I  needed  it.  I'll  not  forget  you  and  Patsy.  You're 
both  fine." 

"  Oh,  hell ! "  said  Barney,  resorting  to  what  he 
thought  was  tactfulness.  "  Don't  mention  it.  We'd 
do  as  much  fer  a  dog.  Bedad,  I  —  I  wouldn't  mind 
sleepin'  out  here  in  the  woods  meself,  nights  like  this," 
he  went  on  heartily.  "  It's  a  dom  sight  better  than  — 
Well,  so  long,  Sherry.  Will  ye,  by  any  chance,  be 
roostin'  here  tomorrow  night  ?  " 

**  I  suppose  so.  I'll  not  show  my  face  in  town  until 
I'm  in  shape  to  convince  people  that  I'm  actually  sober. 
Good  night,  Barney." 

"  Sleep  tight,"  said  Barney,  from  the  shadows.  The 
sound  of  his  footsteps  died  away. 

The  young  man  ate  his  midnight  repast  with  a  relish. 
He  had  had  countless  suppers  at  midnight  but  not  one 
had  been  as  delectable  as  this  simple  feast  of  sand- 
wiches, hard-boiled  eggs,  cold  chicken,  bottled  milk  and 
doughnuts.  With  a  sort  of  grim  frugality  he  denied 
himself  all  that  his  new-born  appetite  demanded.  He 
reflected  that  a  day  or  two  ago  he  would  have  eaten 
all  that  he  wanted  and  thrown  the  rest  away.  But 
he  was  no  longer  a  prodigal.  He  was  careful  to  pre- 
serve in  the  pasteboard  box  every  scrap  that  was  left 
over,  tucking  it  away  as  tenderly  as  the  miser  puts 
away  his  gold. 

This  new  sensation  of  thrift  amused  him.  Sitting 
with  his  back  to  a  tree,  the  box  once  more  tied  up  with 
its  good  stout  string,  he  allowed  his  thoughts  to  range 
with  some  clarity  over  a  career  of  wastefulness. 
Long  afterward  he  realized  that  he  was  holding  the 
lunch-box  tightly  against  his  breast,  and  that  he  was 


34  SHERRY 

gripping  it  with  a  strength  that  meant  he  would  defend 
it  as  he  would  defend  his  life. 

It  has  already  been  stated  that  he  was,  despite  his 
waywardness,  a  clean-minded  fellow.  He  was  quite  as 
honest  with  himself  as  he  was  with  the  world  to  which 
he  revealed  his  sporting  integrity.  He  blamed  no  one 
but  himself  for  his  present  condition ;  he  had  no  ax  to 
grind,  no  grudge  to  feed.  He  believed  in  his  soul  that 
he  could  be  and  would  be  a  nobler  man  without  money 
than  he  could  possibly  be  with  it,  unless  it  was  ob- 
tained by  no  uncertain  sacrifices  on  his  part. 

There  was  not  the  remotest  doubt  in  his  mind,  as  he 
sat  there  in  the  black  depth  of  Compton's  Woods,  that 
he  would  be  able  to  fight  his  own  way  out  of  the  slough 
into  which  he  had  deliberately  and  foolishly  immersed 
himself.  Indeed,  he  was  looking  forward  with  pleasur- 
able interest  and  a  surprising  zest  to  the  struggle  that 
lay  ahead  of  hiim.  His  was  an  adventuresome  nature; 
he  liked  to  think  of  himself  as  opposed  by  difficulties 
which  only  courage  and  prowess  could  overcome.  In 
a  sense,  he  was  a  moral  braggart,  but  in  no  sense  a 
physical  one.  If  pinned  down  to  an  analysis  of  this 
peculiar  condition,  he  would  no  doubt  have  tranquilly 
contended  that  his  life  was  his  own  and  he  could  take 
care  of  it  better  than  any  one  else, —  and  this  notwith-" 
standing  the  sickening  muddle  he  had  made  of  it. 

The  night  was  dark;  a  starless  sky  hung  over  the 
black  wood,  and  the  world  he  had  known  seemed  a  mil- 
lion miles  away.  He  could  scarcely  believe  it  had  ever 
existed  for  him. 

He  was  alone ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  alone  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life.  Slowly  he  became  conscious 


SHERRY  35 

that  an  odd  sort  of  dread  was  stealing  over  him.  He 
knew  there  was  nothing  to  fear,  and  yet  he  shivered 
occasionally  and  caught  himself  listening  for  ominous 
sounds  in  the  darkness,  just  as  he  had  listened  when  a 
tiny  boy  in  the  great  big  bed-chamber  where  he  slept 
alone.  In  those  nights  of  childish  terror  he  had  called 
out  shrilly  and  his  mother  had  come  to  him.  How  long 
ago  was  that?  He  counted  the  years.  They  repre- 
sented ages  now  as  he  looked  back  to  them.  His 
mother  had  come  to  him,  always  she  had  come  and 
quickly,  and  she  had  driven  away  the  fear  of  night  that 
caused  his  little  heart  to  thump  so  violently. 

His  mother !  She  was  sleeping  alone  over  there  in 
Greenvale  Cemetery, —  ah,  but  not  alone !  There  were 
countless  dead  and  ugly  things  lying  beside  her  in  — 
He  sprang  to  his  feet,  a  cold  sweat  on  his  brow.  She 
was  alone  over  there !  Alone  at  night  in  that  dreadful 
place. 

Hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  he  rushed  headlong 
through  the  darkness,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  faraway, 
straggling  lights  of  the  street  that  formed  the  lower 
line  of  Compton's  Woods.  He  avoided  the  fallen  and 
the  upright  trees,  the  boulders,  the  underbrush  and 
the  tiny  ravines  as  though  guided  by  Providence,  and 
came  at  last  to  the  broad  clearing  at  the  base  of  the 
hill.  Gasping  for  breath, —  for  he  was  no  longer  the 
trained  athlete, —  he  staggered  weakly  to  the  fence, 
and  almost  fell  from  the  top  of  it  upon  the  gravel  side- 
walk beyond. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  QUARTER  of  an  hour  later  he  was  passing 
the  long,  low  stone  wall  that  formed  the  State 
Street  front  of  Greenvale  Cemetery.  There 
were  few  houses  in  this  part  of  the  town,  and  street 
lamps  were  widely  separated.  He  was  a  lonely  pedes- 
trian in  this  sparsely  settled  region.  The  bark  of  a 
dog  would  have  been  a  welcome,  cheery  sound  in  his 
ears,  which  now  were  filled  with  the  noise  of  his  own 
thick,  heavy  breathing  and  the  pounding  of  his  feet  on 
the  firm  macadam  roadway.  But  the  night  itself  was 
as  still  as  death,  as  still  as  the  place  he  was  coming  to. 
Vaulting  over  the  wall  at  a  spot  far  below  the  big 
iron  gates  where  stood  the  sexton's  house,  he  made  his 
way  stealthily  through  the  winding  avenues  and  across 
the  green  sward  to  the  place  where  his  mother  slept. 
It  was  a  well-remembered  spot;  he  had  been  there  many 
a  time  before.  Time  and  again,  between  his  drinking 
bouts,  he  had  visited  her  grave,  always  carrying  flow- 
ers to  lay  upon  the  mound.  He  never  forgot  her,  and 
he  never  went  near  her  grave  except  when  he  was  com- 
pletely sober. 

It  was  not  maudlin  sentiment  that  inspired  the 
words  he  muttered  as  he  lay  face  downward  upon  the 
lonely  mound.  They  were  tender,  consoling  words, 

bidding  her  to  be  not  afraid ;  he  was  there ;  she  was  not 

K 


SHERRY  37 

alone  in  the  night;  he  would  not  leave  until  the  dark- 
ness was  gone. 

And  when  the  first  faint  glow  of  sunrise  stole  in 
among  the  evergreens  and  ever-whites,  he  arose  and 
stood  looking  down  upon  the  place  where  he  had  lain. 

"  The  day  is  here,"  he  said  to  her.  "  If  I  could,  I 
would  come  to  you  every  night.  I  cannot  bear  the 
thought  of  you  being  here  all  alone  in  the  dead  of  night, 
with  —  Ah,  but  Lord !  How  well  off  you  are  I  You 
are  not  here  to  see  your  son  as  he  is  today.  You  went 
away  while  I  was  still  worthy  of  the  hope  and  trust 
you  had  in  me.  You  loved  me  then,  and  you'd  love  me 
now  in  spite  of  everything.  You  would  never  have 
ceased  loving  me.  That's  the  rotten  part  of  it.  You 
would  be  loving  me  now  just  as  much  as  ever,  and  you 
would  have  come  to  me  up  there  in  Compton's  Woods 
tonight  without  a  word,  just  as  you  came  when  I  was  a 
kid.  Just  because  you  were  —  Mother." 

He  brushed  his  hand  across  his  eyes  and  turned 
away.  A  cock  crowed  in  the  distance.  Lifting  his 
head,  he  stood  for  many  minutes  watching  the  pink 
and  grey  light  steal  up  into  the  blue-black  dome.  A 
soft  breeze  was  blowing  through  the  trees.  Birds  be- 
gan to  chirp  sleepily,  and  then  with  sudden  vehemence 
burst  into  shrill  and  stormy  acclaim.  The  sparrow, 
the  pewee,  the  wren  and  the  sweet-voiced  thrush  op- 
ened up  their  little  throats  and  gave  glad  welcome  to 
the  new  day,  utterly  unimpressed  by  the  fact  that  they 
were  in  the  city  of  the  dead. 

He  stood  there  amid  the  ghostly  grave-stones,  be- 
wildered by  the  sudden  revelry,  so  sacrilegious  and  out- 
of-place.  He  opened  his  lips  to  hiss  a  shocked,  re- 


38  SHERRY 

proving,  "  Sh ! ",  and  then  was  conscious  of  a  strange, 
amazing  revival  of  his  own  spirits, —  so  strange  that 
he.  wondered  what  had  come  over  him. 

A  curious  light-heartedness  affected  him ;  an  inex- 
plicable sensation  of  energy,  of  exhilaration  surged 
through  him.  He  flung  up  his  head  and  gazed  about 
in  the  lessening  gloom ;  the  breeze  struck  his  face  with 
a  gentle,  kindly  touch ;  his  brain  seemed  in  that  instant 
to  have  been  released  from  the  trap  that  held  it  fast; 
his  whole  being  shed  something  that  was  heavy  and 
clumsy  and  pressing;  he  felt  himself  expand. 

In  absolute  wonder,  he  cried  out  aloud :  "I  —  I 
never  felt  like  this  before.  I  —  I  guess  I  must  be  — 
sober  at  last." 

Seized  by  an  impulse  that  could  not  be  resisted,  he 
dropped  to  his  knees  beside  his  mother's  grave  and, 
with  ineffable  tenderness,  patted  the  thick  grass  with 
his  open  hands,  lovingly,  caressingly.  Then  he  leaped 
to  his  feet  and  strode  briskly  away.  Vaulting  into 
the  roadway,  he  retraced  his  steps  toward  Compton's 
Woods. 

Cocks  were  now  crowing  everywhere;  raucous  voiced 
cocks  and  shrill,  treble  voiced  fellows ;  faraway  cocks 
and  cocks  nearby;  and  all  of  them  proud  and  happy 
cocks. 

"  Gad !  "  he  cried  exultantly,  as  he  swung  along. 

Houses  and  barns  and  poles  and  fences  were  taking 
shape  in  the  growing  dr.ylight,  desolate  objects  that 
soon  would  stand  out  clear  and  sightly  in  the  mellow 
dawn. 

"  Gad !  "  he  repeated.     "  I'm  hungry  again." 

Soon  he  was  wending  his  way  among  the  sturdy  oaks 


SHERRY  39 

and  elms  of  Compton's  Woods,  pointed  like  a  hunter 
for  the  forgotten  lunch-box.  He  essayed  a  joyous 
whistle,  but  his  "  wind  "  was  not  what  it  used  to  be. 
Rapid  walking  had  told  upon  him.  He  panted,  much 
to  his  disgust. 

As  he  drew  near  the  spot  where  he  had  slept  the 
early  part  of  the  night,  he  was  greeted  by  an  appari- 
tion that  caused  him  to  pause  in  no  little  surprise  and 
considerable  dismay.  A  burly,  ragged,  unkempt  indi- 
vidual was  examining  the  contents  of  the  box  with  ob- 
vious interest  and  glee. 

"  Hey ! "  shouted  Sherry,  starting  forward  again. 
"  Drop  that !  Put  it  down,  damn  you !  "  Every  drop 
of  blood  in  his  body  leaped  to  fighting  heat. 

The  stranger  looked  up  quickly  and  was  about  to 
take  to  his  heels  with  the  treasure.  A  second  glance 
at  the  gaunt,  disheveled  person  who  uttered  the  com- 
mand, encouraged  him  to  stand  his  ground.  The  scowl 
deepened  on  his  already  unprepossessing  face. 

"  Come  and  get  it,  you  shrimp,"  he  roared,  with  a 
prodigious  oath  inserted  for  full  measure  of  contempt. 

Sherry  halted  a  few  yards  away.  He  was  clear- 
headed now  and  sensible  enough  to  take  stock  of  his 
man  before  venturing  into  combat.  Courage  was  by 
no  means  lacking. 

"  It  belongs  to  me,"  he  said  levelly. 

"  The  hell  you  say,"  sneered  the  tramp.  "  G'wan 
away  now,  you,  or  I'll  beat  the  face  ofPn  you.  Skip !  " 
His  manner  was  most  alarming. 

Sherry  had  sized  him  up.  He  was  a  big,  flabby,  but 
powerful  looking  fellow,  filthy  with  the  dust  and  sweat 
of  travel. 


40  SHERRY 

"  I'll  give  you  a  minute  and  a  half  to  put  that  box 
where  you  found  it,"  said  Sherry,  cold  with  determin- 
ation. 

"You  will,  eh?     Oh,  you  will?     Why,  you — " 

«  Put  it  down !  " 

"  Say,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  young  feller.  You 
look  sick  an' — " 

"  Put  it  down !  " 

"How  do  I  know  it's  yours?  And  even  if  it  was, 
it's  mine  now.  Don't  try  any  rough  stuff  or — " 

"  If  you  were  half  way  decent,  I'd  share  it  with 
you,"  said  the  other.  "  You  may  be  as  hungry  as 
I—" 

"  That's  got  nothin'  to  do  with  it.     Beat  it ! " 

Sherry  hesitated.  He  was  suddenly  curious.  "  Say, 
answer  this  question  before  I  fix  you  so  that  you  won't 
be  able  to  talk  at  all.  Where  did  you  spring  from?  " 

The  tramp  glared  at  him.  "  Come  to  think  of  it," 
he  said,  ominously,  "  I  will  put  it  down.  I'll  put  it 
down  just  long  enough  to  bump  that  purty  face  of 
yours  so  that  your  mother,  damn  her,  won't  know 
it." 

He  hurled  the  box  to  the  ground  and  advanced 
swiftly  upon  the  young  man. 

Sherry  quickly  placed  a  tree  between  himself  and  the 
approaching  foe. 

"  I  fought  so !  "  roared  the  tramp.  "  Come  out  o' 
that  till  I  — " 

At  that  instant  Sherry  came  "  out  o'  that,"  divested 
of  his  coat.  The  light  of  battle  was  in  his  eye,  the 
joy  of  a  righteous  cause  in  his  soul.  He  sailed  into 
his  adversary  like  a  whirlwind. 


SHERRY  41 

"  I'll  show  you ! "  he  shouted  gleefully.  He  knew 
that  he  would  have  to  make  short  work  of  the  fellow. 
No  one  knew  better  than  he  the  price  that  excesses 
such  as  he  had  practised  exact  of  the  strongest  con- 
stitution. The  vast  strength  of  his  old  football  days 
was  still  in  his  body  but  it  was  not  to  be  depended  upon 
in  case  of  a  prolonged  encounter. 

The  onslaught  was  so  swift,  so  vicious,  that  the 
tramp,  over-confident  in  his  burliness,  sustained  the 
shock  of  his  life.  He  was  fairly  smothered  by  the 
blows  that  rained  upon  his  face  and  body.  Almost  be- 
fore he  knew  that  the  fight  had  begun,  he  was  defending 
himself  with  fear  in  his  soul.  He  tried  to  cover  up,  but 
the  savage  blows  beat  down  his  guard.  It  was  too  late 
to  run  away,  much  as  he  wished  to  do  so.  Never  had 
he  been  so  deceived  as  this!  What  was  he  up  against? 
How  could  he  possibly  have  dreamed  that  this  pale- 
faced,  hollow-eyed  stranger  was  a  prize  fighter  out 
for  a  morning  sprint —  And  just  then  he  saw  a  mil- 
lion stars.  The  back  of  his  head  struck  the  ground 
first.  He  remembered  that'much  very  clearly  for  half  a 
second  or  so,  and  then  he  felt  suddenly  cold  and  wet. 
Somehow  he  was  having  great  difficulty  in  getting  his 
breath, —  and  no  wonder,  for  he  was  floundering  face 
downward  in  a  far  from  shallow  place  in  Burton's 
Creek. 

When  he  did  get  his  breath, —  it  was  more  of  a  spray 
than  a  breath, —  he  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  dashed 
for  the  bank.  With  singular  foresight, —  all  the  more 
remarkable  because  he  couldn't  see, —  he  chose  the 
bank  farthest  removed  from  the  one  he  so  lately  had 
occupied.  He  slipped  backward  twice  on  the  muddy 


42  SHERRY 

ledge,  but  he  persevered  without  so  much  as  a  glance 
behind.  All  the  while  he  was  sputtering  something 
which  might  have  been  recognized,  by  stretching  the 
imagination,  as  "  for  God's  sake !  " 

Once  out  of  the  water,  he  shot  a  swift,  scared  look 
over  his  shoulder,  but  he  did  not  pause.  That  glance 
revealed  to  him  a  tall,  white-shirted  figure  standing  very 
erect  on  the  opposite  bank,  his  chin  high  and  his  arms, 

—  what  mighty  arms   they  were !  —  folded  across  his 
chest,  for  all  the  world  like  a  picture  he  had  once  seen 
of  an   actor, —  he  couldn't   at  the  moment   remember 
who, —  representing  somebody  in  one  of  Shakespeare's 
plays, —  he  couldn't  for  the  life  of  him  remember  which 
one  it  was.     He  was  having  a  hard  time  of  it  remem- 
bering  anything.     There  was   one  thing  he  had   for- 
gotten more  completely  than  anything  else:  the  appe- 
tite that  had  got  him  into  the  trouble.     But  he  never 
forgot  that  heroic,  defiant  figure  on  the  opposite  bank, 
nor  the  look  of  exaltation  that  transfigured  the  face  of 
his  conqueror. 

A  hundred  feet  away,  he  slowed  down  to  a  walk,  and 
turned  to  hurl  anathemas  —  and  also  a  fair-sized  stone 

—  at  the  motionless  —     But  the  amazing  creature  sud- 
denly came  to  life  and  leaped  forward  in  pursuit !     He 
did  not  see, —  for  obvious  reasons, —  but  he  distinctly 
heard  the  splashing  of  water  and  the  hoarse  shout  of 
victory  as  the  pursuer  crossed  the  creek. 

With  head  thrown  back  and  eyes  lighted  by  the  fire 
of  a  superlative  ambition,  the  vagabond  resumed  his 
onward  progress,  this  time  with  a  purpose  and  inten- 
sity that  left  no  room  to  doubt  that  he  was  in  a  great 
and  vital  hurry.  Never  in  all  his  life  had  he  tried  to 


SHERRY  43 

run  so  fast,  and  never  had  he  seemed  so  distressingly 
stationary.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  deerhound  couldn't 
have  caught  him. 

When  Redpath  stopped  to  lean  against  a  tree  and 
laugh,  his  late  adversary  had  picked  up  a  lead  of  at 
least  a  hundred  yards  and  was  still  running  for  dear 
life,  crashing  through  obstructing  underbrush  and 
hurdling  fallen  logs  with  all  the  vanity  of  a  scornful 
rhinoceros. 

Sherry  watched  him  until  he  disappeared  over  the 
brow  of  a  small  hill,  and  then  walked  slowly  back  to 
the  scene  of  battle.  He  was  wet  and  exhausted,  but 
he  was  very  happy. 

"  Gee,"  he  said  to  himself,  his  hand  pressed  tight 
against  his  side,  "  I'm  glad  he  didn't  let  me  catch  him. 
He  would  have  made  mince-meat  out  of  me.  I'm  all 
in." 

Crossing  the  stream  on  the  exposed  boulders,  he 
threw  himself  upon  the  ground  and  panted  for  breath. 

"  But  wasn't  it  great?  "  he  mused  blissfully. 

For  an  hour  he  lay  there,  gazing  up  into  the  cool 
green  foliage,  a  queer  little  smile  on  his  lips,  reminis- 
cent of  triumph,  and,  as  the  painful  thumping  of  his 
heart  subsided,  a  peacefulness  stole  over  him,  for  he 
knew  that  he  had  made  a  good  start  up  the  long  hill. 

He  shaved  with  cold  water  and  was  philosophical 
about  it.  Then,  glowing  warmly,  after  a  plunge  into 
the  stream,  he  set  himself  down  to  a  most  unusual 
breakfast.  Never  before  had  he  partaken  of  lettuce 
sandwiches  for  breakfast,  and  never  had  he  dreamed 
it  possible  for  a  sane  person  to  relish  pickles  at  that  un- 
godly hour  in  the  morning.  He  contrasted  his  cus- 


44  SHERRY 

tomary  breakfast  of  a  piece  of  dry  toast  and  a  cup  of 
coffee  with  this  feast  of  sandwiches,  eggs,  pickles  and 

—  Yes,  fruit  cake, —  and  chuckled.     Certainly  he  was 
entertaining     a     strange     man     at     breakfast.     This 
couldn't  be  Sheridan  W.  Redpath  who  scraped  up  every 
crumb  and  devoured  it  so  eagerly.     Here  was  parsi- 
mony unequalled ! 

His  thoughts  ran  down  the  hill  to  the  home  of  Officer 
Barney  Doyle,  and  they  were  of  hot  coffee.  The  mere 
thought  of  a  brimming  cup  of  coffee  with  thick  cream 

—  well,  the  most  exquisite  longing  engaged  his  vitals. 
Had  the  amount  been  in  his  pocket  at  that  instant, 
he  cheerfully  would  have  given  a  hundred  dollars  for 
a  cup  of  coffee.     If  only  he  had  that  last  ten  cents 
back  in  his  fingers  again !     What  a  glorious  treat  he 
could  give  himself  down  at  the  junction  lunch-room! 

He  ate  with  a  vast  pride  and  no  little  self-esteem. 
Had  he  not  battled  for  and  preserved  his  breakfast? 
There  was  a  tremendous  satisfaction  in  feeling  that  he 
owed  his  present  state  of  contentment  to  a  superior, — 
though  sadly  battered, —  pair  of  fists,  and  a  stout 
heart. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  he  had  not  the  slightest 
craving  for  an  alcoholic  stimulant.  The  thought  did 
not  enter  his  head  that  he  actually  needed  such  a  thing. 
He  wanted  coffee  and  nothing  else. 

All  that  day  he  kept  to  the  woods.  By  nightfall 
he  was  ravenously  hungry.  From  time  to  time  dur- 
ing the  day  he  inspected  himself  in  the  little  mirror, 
and  always  he  shook  his  head  resolutely.  His  eyes 
were  inflamed  and  his  hand  shook  as  he  held  it  up  for 
inspection. 


SHERRY  45 

"  No,"  he  said  ruefully,  "  you  won't  do  yet,  Sherry. 
You're  just  one  notch  removed  from  a  hang-over,  and 
everybody  on  earth  hates  a  hang-over.  You're  not  all 
here  yet, —  not  by  any  means.  I  certainly  can't  afford 
to  be  seen  on  the  streets  with  you  in  your  present  con- 
dition. People  wouldn't  have  a  particle  of  confidence 
in  me  if  they  saw  me  associating  with  you.  They'd 
say  I  was  in  very  bad  company."  He  looked  himself 
over.  His  linen  was  far  from  immaculate,  his  blue 
serge  suit  needed  pressing  badly.  He  sighed.  "  Pretty 
seedy,  old  top,  pretty  seedy.  I  shudder  when  I  look 
at  you.  I'd  hate  to  meet  you  in  a  lonely  spot  on  a 
dark  night."  He  sighed  again.  "  I  see  that  I'll  have 
to  take  a  run  into  the  city  tonight,  when  all  the  good 
people  are  asleep,  and  reclaim  your  wardrobe."  His 
fingers  encountered  the  round  brass  hotel  check  in  his 
trousers  pocket.  "  It  gives  me  an  awful  shock  when 
I  come  in  contact  with  that  infernal  check.  It  feels 
like  a  half  dollar,  and  for  a  second  or  two  I  think  I'm 
rich  again." 

From  his  sequestered  hiding-places  in  the  depths  of 
Compton's  Woods  he  could  see  the  roadway  below. 
As  the  day  wore  on,  he  became  aware  of  an  increasing 
interest  on  the  part  of  the  people  who  passed  along  this 
more  or  less  unfrequented  street  in  the  outskirts  of 
the  town.  Even  from  a  great  distance  he  could  see 
that  pedestrians  were  gazing  intently  into  the  wooded 
region  above.  Drivers  of  delivery  wagons  leaned  for- 
ward and  searched  the  forest  with  unmistakable  cu- 
riosity. People  in  automobiles  pointed  their  fingers  in 
a  vaguely  general  direction  and  put  their  heads  to- 
gether as  if  living  up  to  the  theory  that  two  heads 


46  SHERRY 

are  better  than  one  when  in  doubt.  Moreover,  he  no- 
ticed, as  the  afternoon  progressed,  that  the  number  of 
passing  automobiles  increased.  Most  of  them  moved 
with  funereal  slowness  and  some  of  them  actually 
stopped  at  points  of  special  vantage. 

He  was  not  long  in  grasping  what  it  all  meant.  A 
bitter  smile  came  to  his  lips  and  a  look  of  dismay  to 
his  eyes. 

"  The  whole  darned  town  knows  I'm  up  here,"  he 
reflected,  clenching  his  sore  hands.  "  They're  prob- 
ably saying  I'm  completely  surrounded  by  whisky  bot- 
tles, loaded  to  the  guards,  guzzling  and  sleeping  and 
guzzling  again.  Lordy,  what  are  they  not  saying! 
Probably  saying  that  women  are  not  safe  as  long  as 
I'm  at  large,  that  children  mustn't  come  within  a  mile 
of  Compton's  Woods,  that  I  ought  to  be  locked  up  and 
then  run  out  of  town !  The  newspapers  are  describing 
me  as  a  wild  man  of  the  woods,  and  all  the  old  fogies 
in  town  are  saying  *  I  told  you  so.'  That  scamp  of  a 
Sherry  Redpath  is  up  there  drinking  himself  to  death, 
*  thank  the  Lord, —  that's  what  they're  saying, —  and 
*  What  a  God's  blessing  it  is  that  his  poor  mother  is 
in  her  grave  and  can't  see  her  son  now.'  Rubber,  you 
infernal  idiots !  You  can't  see  me  from  the  road,  and 
there  isn't  one  of  you  that's  got  nerve  enough  or  char- 
ity enough  to  come  in  here  to  see  what's  become  of  me. 
I  might  die  of  starvation  for  all  you  care.  Enjoy 
yourselves ! " 

He  leaned  forward  to  devote  his  undivided  attention 
to  a  certain  object. 

"  Well,  can  you  beat  that?  As  I'm  alive,  it's  Uncle 
Henry  and  Aunt  Phoebe  taking  in  the  sights !  Show- 


SHERRY  47 

ing  me  their  new  car,  too.  Now  that's  nice  of  them. 
What  a  beautiful  new  Ford  they've  got!  They  want 
me  to  see  it  before  they  have  it  washed.  What  kind, 
thoughtful  people  they  are!  Cheering  me  up  always. 
Couldn't  bear  to  think  of  me  dying  up  here  without 
having  something  pretty  to  look  at  before  I  croak. 
Returning  good  for  evil,  too.  Showing  me  they've 
forgiven  me  for  punching  Cousin  Ben's  nose  last  spring 
when  he  called  me  down  for  saying  hello  to  him  on 
Main  Street." 

When  nightfall  came  he  eagerly  made  his  way  down 
to  the  lower  end  of  the  woods.  Barney  Doyle  would 
be  along  soon,  traversing  the  lonely  street  on  his  first 
round  of  the  night.  With  gleeful  anticipation,  he 
waited  at  the  point  where  Hooper  Street  intersected 
Compton's  Road.  Here  he  would  intercept  the  kindly 
policeman  and  — 

His  soul  turned  sick  with  the  possibility  of  disap- 
pointment. Barney  would  surely  come,  but  would  he 
bring  another  box  from  the  wonderful  Patsy? 

And  Barney  came  and  was  startled  almost  out  of  his 
helmet  when  the  half-famished,  eager  young  fellow 
sprang  over  the  fence,  squarely  in  his  path,  and  cheer- 
ily ordered  him  to  throw  up  his  hands ! 

This  time  there  was  a  thermos  bottle  filled  with  hot 
coffee,  besides  an  even  larger  box  than  the  one  of  the 
night  before. 

"  Me  old  lady  sends  ye  the  coffee  with  her  kindest  re- 
gards," said  Barney,  "  and  I'll  run  ye  in  if  ye  don't 
return  that  bottle  by  six  in  the  mornm'." 

"  You  tell  her  I'll  kiss  her  if  I  ever  meet  her,"  cried 
Sherry,  happier  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life. 


48  SHERRY 

"  See  that  ye  do,"  said  Barney,  magnanimously. 
"  She  hasn't  had  a  young  felly  kiss  her  in  twenty-five 
years,  and,  bedad,  I  think  she'd  enjoy  it." 

The  cheery  policeman  stopped  for  half  an  hour, 
chatting  with  the  young  man  while  he  ate  of  the  good 
things  the  barkeeper  had  sent  up  to  him. 

"  There's  a  bum  in  j  ail  this  minute  who  says  they's 
a  crazy  man  up  in  Compton's  Woods,"  said  Barney. 
"  And  by  the  looks  av  him  I'd  say  he  was  an  uncom- 
monly vicious  lunatic.  I  never  saw  such  a  pair  av 
eyes  as  the  poor  divil's  got." 

He  left  a  couple  of  Chicago  newspapers  with  Red- 
path,  and  went  his  way  with  an  ill-timed  prayer  for 
rain.  The  country  was  parched  from  the  effects  of  a 
six  weeks'  drought.  A  thunder-storm  was  the  only 
thing  that  would  cool  off  the  air,  and  a  three  days' 
rain  was  needed.  Or,  at  least,  so  said  Barney  Doyle. 

Far  back  in  the  wood,  Sherry  built  a  little  fire  that 
night,  and  lying  close  beside  it,  read  the  papers.  He 
had  not  failed  to  observe  that  Barney  tactfully  neg- 
lected to  leave  either  of  the  local  dailies. 


CHAPTER  V 

HIS  third  day  in  the  woods  brought  a  beautiful 
adventure.  He  awoke  bright  and  early  and 
hungry.  His  first  act  was  to  take  account  of 
himself  in  the  looking-glass,  and  his  spirits  went  up 
with  a  bound.  The  bleary  droop  was  gone  from  his 
eyes ;  they  looked  back  at  him  with  something  of  their 
old  brightness  and  vivacity.  Despite  a  certain  blood- 
shot condition,  which  he  knew  time  alone  could  erad- 
icate, they  were  most  agreeably  clear  and  direct. 
The  old  smile  was  in  them  and  they  no  longer  blinked 
uncertainly  when  he  tried  to  focus  them  on  any  def- 
inite object. 

He  sang  as  he  splashed  in  the  cold  waters  of  Burton's 
Creek,  and  whistled  as  he  shaved.  And  glory  be!  the 
coffee  was  still  hot  in  the  thermos  bottle.  His  spirits 
soared  higher  and  higher. 

Late  the  night  before  he  had  stolen  down  the  back 
streets  and,  long  after  twelve  o'clock,  presented  him- 
self at  the  check-room  in  the  Tremont.  From  one  of 
his  suitcases  he  brought  forth  a  supply  of  clean  linen, 
his  hair-brushes  and  a  long-despised  bottle  of  lilac 
toilet-water.  The  pipe  he  had  smoked  in  college  was 
also  forthcoming,  and  a  tin  of  smoking  tobacco  that 
he  had  forgotten  he  possessed.  Rolling  these  articles 
up  in  a  newspaper  he  tramped  back  to  his  lodgings  in 
the  wood,  but  not  until  the  night  watchman,  who  was 
also  the  hotel  valet,  had  pressed  his  blue  serge  suit. 

49 


50  SHERRY 

A  day  or  two  more  of  the  simple  life  in  the  woods 
and  he  would  be  as  fit  as  a  fiddle.  He  remarked,  how- 
ever, as  he  grew  stronger  and  his  brain  cleared,  that 
it  was  impossible  to  rest  comfortably  on  the  hard  bed 
that  Mother  Earth  provided  for  him.  This,  he  ar- 
gued, was  most  encouraging.  Only  a  night  or  two  be- 
fore he  wouldn't  have  cared  whether  his  bed  was  hard 
or  soft.  A  greensward  is  all  very  well  when  you  are 
drunk,  but  it  is  a  cruelly  unresponsive  thing  when  you 
are  sober.  His  mind  took  frequent  excursions  to  the 
hammock  in  Patsy  Burke's  porch ;  it  would  swing  very 
nicely  between  two  stout  saplings  and  —  He  sighed 
deeply.  Alas,  he  had  a  thousand  saplings  at  his  com- 
mand but  not  a  single  hammock. 

Shortly  after  breakfast  he  started  off  on  a  long  walk 
through  the  woods,  his  pipe  going  busily.  He  had  cut 
for  himself  a  stout  walking-stick  and  in  the  band  of 
his  panama  hat  he  had  jabbed  the  gaudy  wing-feather 
of  a  blue- jay.  With  all  the  cunning  of  a  forest- 
dweller,  he  made  safe  the  remnants  of  his  breakfast  by 
hiding  it  among  the  thick  branches  of  a  stately  oak. 
His  discarded  linen,  clumsily  washed  in  the  stream, 
hung  out  to  dry  on  a  less  imposing  tree ! 

Right  jauntily  he  swung  along  through  the  shady 
bois, —  he  employed  the  French  because  his  mood  was 
gay, —  twirling  his  stick  and  whistling  an  inconstant 
air. 

"  Bedad,"  he  said,  abandoning  the  French  for  Bar- 
ney Doyle,  "  if  I  felt  any  better  I'd  die." 

Compton's  Woods  spread  out  over  a  huge  tract  of 
land,  running  back  from  the  city  to  a  point  nearly 
three  miles  from  Hooper  Street,  its  northern  boundary. 


SHERRY  51 

Topographically  it  represented  a  succession  of  hills 
and  vales  covered  by  an  apparently  endless  sweep  of 
timber. 

For  many  years  this  expanse  of  forest-land  had  been 
in  litigation.  As  far  back  as  one  could  well  remem- 
ber,—  excepting  the  oldest  inhabitant,  of  course, — 
Compton's  Woods  had  been  in  the  courts,  the  battle- 
ground of  countless  lawsuits,  apparent  compromises 
and  renewed  wrangles.  Combative  heirs  could  not  be 
induced  to  agree  upon  a  partition  of  the  property;  so 
bitter  was  the  animosity  governing  the  conflict  that 
neither  side  would  give  an  inch.  Through  a  sort  of 
hereditary  spite  on  the  part  of  the  contestants  the 
forest  remained  as  God  created  it,  and  no  man's  hand 
had  been  allowed  to  improve  upon  His  handiwork. 
Narrow,  serpentinous  dirt  roads  transversed  the  tract 
by  virtue  of  a  necessity  which  disregarded  property 
rights,  and  on  these  roads  certain  unrestrained  farm- 
ers and  gardeners  found  a  "  short  cut  "  to  the  lower 
end  of  the  city.  In  the  main,  however,  the  roads  were 
unfrequented.  They  were  not  inviting  to  motorists, 
and,  in  these  days  of  rapid  transit,  even  the  most 
lowly  of  agriculturists  prefers  the  long  road  to  the 
short  one  if  only  to  keep  his  place  in  the  procession 
along  the  broad  highway,  where  he  may  see  and  be  seen, 
a  product  of  advancing  civilization. 

South,  east  and  west  ranged  the  broad  grain-fields, 
the  level  savannas,  and  the  stock-farms  of  the  ever-com- 
plaining but  independent  agriculturists.  Compton's 
Woods  stood  like  a  green  oasis  in  the  midst  of  a  sheer 
desert  of  yellow  wheat-fields  at  the  time  of  which  I 
write.  The  harvesters  were  at  work  in  the  fields;  the 


52  SHERRY 

threshers  would  soon  be  grinding  away  in  their  place. 

On  one  side  of  the  tract  ran  the  huge  farms  of  the 
Compton  family ;  on  the  other  those  of  their  bitter  en- 
emies, the  Burtons.  In  all  that  part  of  the  State  there 
were  no  wealthier,  no  more  powerful  landed  interests 
than  those  represented  by  the  holdings  of  the  Comp- 
tons  and  the  Burtons.  For  fifty  years  they  had 
fought  each  other  vindictively  because  a  common 
grandfather  had  grievously  erred  in  the  matter  of  a 
title  to  the  stretch  of  timberland  that  lay  between 
them.  In  the  old  days,  when  the  sword  was  mightier 
than  a  pen  in  the  hands  of  any  lawyer,  they  had  fought 
with  sanguinary  effect  in  the  recesses  of  the  wood, 
and  many  a  Compton  had  nursed  a  battered  counte- 
nance as  the  result  of  such  encounters,  for,  be  it  said, 
the  Burton  branch  of  the  family  was  the  sturdier  and 
more  primeval  in  its  habits.  The  Comptons  were  con- 
fessedly "  quality,"  while  the  Burtons  were  as  "  com- 
mon as  dirt." 

That  was  in  the  old  days.  In  these  new  days,  the 
Burtons  regarded  themselves  as  simon-pure  county 
aristocrats,  while  the  Comptons  no  longer  were  a  sig- 
nificant power  in  the  community.  Singular  as  it  may 
appear,  there  were  now  no  male  Comptons,  while  the 
Burtons  were  fairly  alive  with  masculinity.  The  male 
of  the  Compton  species  was  apparently  extinct;  the 
ranks  were  beginning  to  be  decimated  as  far  back  as 
the  early  nineties,  and  at  the  outset  of  the  twentieth 
century  there  remained  but  one  masculine  member  of 
the  family,  and  he  was  venerable,  if  not  venerated. 

His  wife  now  survived  him  with  her  five  daughters. 
There  were  aunts  and  female  cousins  in  abundance,  but 


SHERRY  53 

no  uncles  except  by  marriage.  The  stock  was  thin- 
ning out.  In  place  of  Comptons  there  grew  up  an 
assortment  of  Browns,  and  Coles,  and  Binghams.  On 
the  other  hand,  Burtons  were  multiplying.  There 
were  sons  and  uncles  and  nephews  without  end;  visibly 
the  Burtons  were  bipeds.  The  petticoats  of  the  fam- 
ily were  acquired  by  means  of  the  ancient  and  sacred 
rites  of  matrimony. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  there  were  a  dozen  heads 
to  the  Burton  family,  and  but  one  for  the  clan  of 
Compton :  a  sharp,  autocratic  little  old  lady  who  had 
mothered  five  daughters  and  despised  herself  even 
more  than  she  pitied  her  husband.  If  she  could  only 
have  brought  one  promoting  Compton  into  the  world! 
If  she  could  only  have  had  grandchildren  named  Comp- 
ton instead  of  Brown,  Bingham,  Cole,  Stevens  and 
O'Brien!  (The  youngest  of  the  five  had  run  away 
with  and  married  a  farm-hand  whose  Christian  name 
was  Patrick.) 

Mrs.  Compton  reigned  alone  in  the  midst  of  her 
acres.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  in  the  southwest- 
ern part  of  the  county  the  fields  and  pastures  were 
hers.  Her  sons-in-law,  with  the  exception  of  Patrick, 
went  to  the  city  to  live  to  bring  up  their  children. 

Patrick  did  not  go  to  the  city.  He  was  still  trying 
to  obtain  forgiveness  for  himself  and  his  wife, —  after 
five  years  of  unsuccessful  effort, —  when  a  horse  kicked 
him  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach  and  he  died.  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton forthwith  forgave  her  daughter. 

The  Compton  homestead, —  one  might  be  justified  in 
saying  the  Compton  headquarters, —  was  situated  at 
the  top  of  a  long,  sloping  hill,  not  more  than  a  quar- 


54  SHERRY 

ter  of  a  mile  from  the  southern  boundary  of  the  woods. 
Visible  to  the  eye  for  miles  from  at  least  three  points 
of  the  compass,  it  was  a  singularly  bleak  and  cheerless 
looking  house  of  a  quasi-colonial  type:  high  and 
square  and  flanked  by  unimposing  though  practical 
wings  which  rambled  off  at  various  angles  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  huge  barns,  granaries  and  silos.  A  Vir- 
ginian forefather  had  built  the  house  long  before  the 
Civil  War ;  each  succeeding  generation  felt  called  upon 
to  add  something  to  it,  the  result  being  seen  in  the  off- 
shooting  wings  with  their  shingled  roofs,  their  brisk 
chimney  tiles  and  their  less  severe  fa9ades.  The  old 
part  of  the  house  was  roofed  with  slate,  escalloped  in 
dual  colours.  The  whole  structure  was  of  brick,  each 
cube  carefully  outlined  by  a  narrow,  geometrically  pre- 
cise strip  of  white.  The  four  lofty  columns  protecting 
the  porch  and  gallery  that  fronted  the  house  were 
snowy  white  and  sometimes  glistened  in  the  sun. 

It  was  here  that  the  family  conclaves  were  held,  and 
the  Christmas  and  Thanksgiving  dinners,  and,  not  in- 
frequently, dances  to  which  young  people  from  town 
were  brought  in  bob-sleds  or  automobiles  by  the  en- 
terprising grandchildren  of  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

Sherry  Redpath,  having  traversed  the  length  of 
Compton's  Woods  in  his  joyous  stroll,  sat  down  in  the 
shade  of  the  most  southern  oak  and  gazed  passively  at 
the  not  distant  birthplace  of  all  the  Comptons. 

A  wide  macadam  highway  skirted  the  lower  end  of 
the  woods.  By  travelling  directly  westward  for  four 
miles  one  would  come  to  the  homes  of  the  Burtons.  The 
sons  and  daughters  of  this  family  had  stood  by  the 
soil.  They  were  content  to  remain  farmers  or  farm- 


SHERRY  55 

ers'  wives.  Their  homes  were  modern  and  substantial, 
and  there  were  half-a-dozen  of  them  scattered  over  the 
family  possessions.  There  was  something  arrogant, 
even  Teutonic,  in  the  smugness  of  these  carefully 
placed  houses,  like  so  many  fortresses  guarding  ex- 
posed territory. 

Young  Redpath  knew  birt  little  of  the  history  of  the 
two  families.  The  grave  disputes  were  of  another  gen- 
eration ;  today,  the  survivors  merely  sat  quiescent  in 
the  midst  of  their  belongings  and  refrained  from  open 
conflict.  Sherry's  interests  were  of  the  city,  not  of  the 
country.  A  farm  was,  to  him,  no  more  than  a  suc- 
cession of  fields,  populated  by  cattle,  and  sheep,  and 
horses,  and  conducted  for  the  sole  purpose  of  supply- 
ing city  people  with  the  necessities  of  life.  He  knew 
two  or  three  of  the  younger  Burtons,  and,  in  a  remote 
way,  several  of  the  granddaughters  of  old  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton.  They  were  little  girls  in  the  grade-schools  when 
he  was  in  the  high-school.  When  he  came  home  from 
college  he  found  them  in  long  frocks  and  easily  diverted 
by  the  attentions  of  young  gentlemen.  They  were  all, 
at  this  time,  somewhat  vague  to  his  memory. 

The  riches  of  the  old  lady  on  the  hill  meant  nothing 
to  him,  for  he  too  had  been  rich  in  his  day.  He  did 
not  envy  her  the  possession  of  all  these  acres.  There 
was  no  rancour  in  his  heart.  He  had  no  grudge 
against  the  well-to-do  and  prosperous.  His  only 
thought  of  Mrs.  Compton  as  he  gazed  upon  her  habita- 
tion was  one  of  pity  because  she  was  old  and  her 
course  so  nearly  run.  He  pitied  her  because  he  was 
so  young  and  had  so  much  ahead  of  him  to  live  for. 

Suddenly  his  gaze  fell  upon  a  solitary  figure  that  ap- 


56  SHERRY 

peared  as  if  by  magic  in  the  avenue  leading  up  to  the 
house  on  the  crest  of  the  hill.  It  was  some  time  before 
he  realized  that  the  figure  had  emerged  from  the  thick 
hedge  that  lined  the  avenue,  evidently  employing  a  short 
cut  to  the  big  gate  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill.  There 
was  a  swiftness  in  the  approach  of  the  pedestrian  that 
signified  more  than  an  ordinary  effect  of  haste,  and  a 
purposefulness  in  the  hunched  attitude  that  soon  ex- 
plained itself  in  the  laboured  effort  to  manage  two 
heavy  suitcases,  pendant  at  the  extremities  of  a  pair  of 
rigid  arms.  He  observed  the  costume  of  the  person 
who  struggled  so  manfully  with  the  two  bags  and  yet 
was  as  far  from  being  manly  as  any  creature  he  had 
ever  seen.  It  was  tan  coloured,  surmounted  by  a 
smart,  somewhat  rakish  panama  hat  from  which  flut- 
tered the  ends  of  a  green  veil. 

Arriving  at  the  bottom  of  the  lane,  the  young  person 
dropped  the  two  bags  and,  before  opening  the  gate, 
stretched  her  lithe,  slender  figure  in  very  evident  relief 
and  relaxation  after  a  strenuous,  back-breaking  quar- 
ter of  a  mile. 

Then  she  opened  the  long,  white  gate,  and,  with  pos- 
itive dismay,  took  up  her  double  burden  again.  The 
unseen  watcher  at  the  edge  of  the  wood  was  sharply 
aware  of  a  suspicion  concerning  this  toiling  young 
woman.  He  glanced  at  his  watch,  and  found  that  it 
was  a  few  minutes  after  seven  o'clock.  His  conclusion 
was  instant  and  startling.  The  young  person  in  the 
tan  dress  was  making  way  with  the  Compton  family 
plate!  She  was  an  early  bird! 

A  thrill  of  excitement  swept  over  him.  Here  was  a 
pretty  kettle  of  fish.  What  was  he  to  do?  Stop  her 


SHERRY  57 

and  turn  her  over  to  the  police  or —  Just  then  she 
sat  down  upon  a  huge  boulder  at  the  roadside  and 
patted  her  brow  with  a  small  white  handkerchief.  The 
bags  reposed  at  her  feet.  Ah!  He  knew  what  was 
coming!  An  accomplice  in  an  automobile  would  dash 
up  in  a  minute  or  two  and  whisk  her  off  with  the  booty, 
—  And  what  an  uncommonly  pretty  girl  she  was,  too ! 
He  couldn't  recall  having  seen  a  prettier  one. 

From  time  to  time  she  looked  anxiously  down  the 
road,  and  once  or  twice  sent  an  apprehensive  glance 
toward  the  house  at  the  top  of  the  hill.  Her  shoulders 
sagged  a  little.  He  was  close  enough  to  see  that  she 
breathed  deeply  and  rapidly  as  if  from  exhaustion. 

Presently  her  eyes  fell  upon  him.  He  was  not  more 
than  fifty  feet  away,  and  there  was  unmistakable  in- 
terest in  the  gaze  with  which  he  favoured  her.  Her 
body  stiffened,  her  breathing  seemed  to  stop  altogether. 
She  appeared  to  be  extremely  ill-at-ease,  not  to  say 
dismayed. 

He  found  himself  wishing  that  the  automob'le  would 
hurry  along  and  relieve  her  anxiety.  It  wasn't  any  of 
his  business  if  she  got  away  with  the  Compton  silver 
and  jewels.  He  certainly  wouldn't  interfere.  If  old 
Lady  Compton  left  her  plate  and  jewels  lying  loose 
about  the  house,  she  ought  to  expect  to  have  them 
"  lifted."  In  any  event,  he  wouldn't  pounce  upon  a 
creature  so  helpless  and  so  tired  and  so  pretty  as  this 
one,  and  drag  her  back  to  the  scene  of  her  crime, —  not 
for  anything  in  the  world.  He  was  not  such  a  brute 
as  all  that.  Besides,  the  old  lady  probably  did  not 
know  how  to  treat  a  servant, —  especially  a  pretty  one, 
1 —  no  doubt  underpaid  and  overworked  her. 


58  SHERRY 

He  stared  with  renewed  interest  when  she  nervously 
pulled  down  the  top  of  a  long  glove  and  glanced  at  the 
watch  on  her  wrist.  Rather  a  smart,  unusual  sort  of 
servant,  he  thought.  The  longer  he  looked,  the  more 
he  was  convinced  that  she  was  decidedly  unusual,  even 
in  these  days  when  it  is  so  difficult  to  distinguish  be- 
tween mistress  and  maid  unless  you  know  the  name  of 
the  dressmaker.  She  had  quite  an  air  about  her, — 
quite  a  definite  air. 

She  was  frowning  now  and  tapping  the  ground  im- 
patiently with  a  small,  neatly  shod  foot.  He  began  to 
feel  ashamed  of  himself.  Certainly  it  was  not  very 
gentlemanly  to  be  lounging  across  the  way  and  staring 
her  out  of  countenance.  In  some  embarrassment,  he 
came  to  his  feet  and  stretched  himself  with  poorly  as- 
sumed indifference.  To  his  surprise,  she  also  sprang 
up,  and  grasped  the  handles  of  the  heavy  bags.  She 
lifted  them  with  an  effort,  and,  without  so  much  as  a 
glance  in  his  direction,  started  off  down  the  road  in 
the  direction  of  town. 

He  watched  her  progress  for  some  minutes,  and  was 
not  surprised  when  she  set  the  bags  down  to  rest  her 
weary  arms.  Really,  thought  he,  she  ought  not  to  be 
carrying  those  stupendous  —  Why,  she  was  such  a 
slim,  dainty  little  thing, —  and  yet  how  manfully  and 
resolutely  she  took  up  her  burden  again !  Once  more 
she  was  off,  the  bags  banging  against  her  knees,  her 
Tiead  bent  to  the  toiling. 

He  came  to  an  abrupt  decision.  The  confounded 
;automobile  wasn't  coming  after  all.  Something  had 
gone  wrong  with  her  plans.  But  that  was  no  reason 
why  he,  a  big,  strong  lout,  should  allow  her  to  carry 


SHERRY  59 

those  bags,  no  matter  what  they  contained.  He  was 
not  long  in  overtaking  her.  xThe  fence  was  still  be- 
tween him  and  the  road  along  which  she  trudged  so 
arduously. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  came  an  eager,  masculine 
voice  to  her  ears.  She  stopped  short  and  dropped  the 
bags.  He  distinctly  heard  her  murmur,  "  Oh,  dear 
me ! "  and  then  she  faced  him  defiantly.  His  hands 
were  on  the  top  rail  of  the  fence,  but  her  manner  had 
a  strangely  subduing  effect  on  his  ardour. 

"  I  am  not  going  back,"  she  began,  with  decision  in 
her  eyes  if  not  in  her  voice,  which  suffered  sadly  from 
lack  of  breath. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  exclaimed  promptly.  "  I 
should  say  not.  I  don't  want  you  to  go  back.  Allow 
me  to  suggest  that  — " 

"  Nothing, —  nothing  in  the  world  will  induce  me  to 
go  back,"  she  went  on,  her  voice  gaining  strength  and 
a  deeper,  more  natural  note.  He  thought  it  a  very 
lovely  voice.  "  I  don't  care  who  you  are,  or  what 
you  intend  to  do,  I  — " 

"  Please  don't  be  alarmed,"  he  made  haste  to  reas- 
sure her.  "  I'm  not  a  detective.  I  only  want  to  help 
you  with  those  bags.  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  me. 
If  you'll  let  me  carry  them  for  you1,  I'll  be  as  happy 
as  a  —  well,  as  anything." 

She  drew  herself  up.  "  Thank  you,  but  I  think 
I  can  manage  them." 

"  They're  awfully  heavy,"  he  reminded  her.  "  I'm 
really  an  uncommonly  strong  chap,  and  if  you'd  — " 

"  What  are  you  doing  out  here  in  the  woods  at  this 
hour  of  the  morning?  "  she  demanded  sharply. 


60  SHERRY 

"Enjoying  a  constitutional,"  he  explained.  "You 
see,  I'm  taking  a  rest  cure.  May  I  enquire  if  it  is  your 
intention  to  walk  all  the  way  to  town,  carrying  these 
bags?" 

"  Unless  I  can  catch  a  ride,"  she  replied,  melting  a 
little.  "  I  should  think  some  one  would  be  coming 
along  in  a  car  or  wagon  before  —  Are  you  sure  you 
are  not  employed  to  watch  —  I  should  say,  didn't  my 
grandmother  ask  headquarters  to  send  some  one  up 
to—" 

"  Your  grandmother?  " 

"  Yes.     Don't  you  know  who  I  am?  " 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  I  — " 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  of  that,"  she  said,  composedly. 
"  Thank  you, —  and  good  day." 

She  stooped  to  take  up  the  bags  again. 

"  You  will  not  pick  up  a  ride  at  this  time  o'  day," 
he  declared,  noting  with  satisfaction  that  she  strained 
a  little  at  the  lifting.  "  Too  early,  you  see,  for  mo- 
torists, and  the  rubes  don't  go  to  town  until  after 
they've  done  a  half-day's  work.  Besides,  it's  Thurs- 
day. Saturday's  their  day.  A  quarter-past  seven. 
It's  a  good  three  miles  to  the  nearest  street-car  line, 
and  —  by  the  way,  it  looks  like  rain.  See  those 
clouds?" 

She  walked  slowly, —  very  slowly, —  her  feet  set 
straight  ahead  but  her  ear  turned  toward  the  tempter. 
"  We  need  rain  badly,"  she  said. 

"  What  have  you  got  in  those  bags?  "  he  demanded 
suddenly,  a  marked  change  in  his  voice. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SHE  stopped  and  faced  him,  but  did  not  relin- 
quish her  grip  on  the  handles. 
"  None  of  your  business,"  she  said,  flushing. 
"  Please  do  not  annoy  me  any  — " 

"  What  did  you  mean  by  '  headquarters '  a  moment 
ago?  Why  should  police  headquarters  be  sending  a 
man  out  here  to  watch  Mrs.  Compton's  house?  And 
what  are  you  doing  out  here  at  this  time  of  the  morn- 
ing? Looks  like  a  getaway  to  me." 

"  Getaway?     What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean." 

She  paled  slightly.  "  If  you  —  if  you  mean  that  I 
am  —  stealing  anything  from  —  How  dare  you !  " 

"  Well,  if  you  haven't  anything  but  your  own  prop- 
erty in  those  bags  you'll  let  me  carry  'em  for  you,"  he 
expounded. 

She  surprised  him  by  smiling, —  radiantly.  "  Oh, 
dear  me!  It  does  look  as  though  I  was  making  off 
with  the  family  plate,  doesn't  it?  How  thrilling! 
And  how  shocking !  " 

"  Thank  heaven,  you're  innocent !  "  he  cried. 

"  How  do  you  know  I  am  innocent  ?  I  may  have  the 
jewels  — " 

He  was  climbing  over  the  fence.  She  stood  her 
ground,  unafraid.  He  looked  honest,  and  a  gentle- 
man. 

"  I  am  looking  for  work,"  he  said,  stopping  in  front 

61  s 


62  SHERRY 

of  her.  "  I'm  not  a  tramp,  but  just  a  poor  wretch 
who  hasn't  a  penny  to  his  name,  no  place  to  sleep  ex- 
cept in  the  woods,  and  nothing  to  eat  — " 

"  My  goodness !  "  she  broke  in,  staring  hard  at  his 
good-looking,  eager  face.  "  Why, —  why,  is  it  possible 
that  you  are  the  Redpath  person  that  every  one  is  talk- 
ing about?  The  wild  man  of  the  woods?  " 

"  That's  just  who  I  am.  Don't  run  away!  I'm  not 
dangerous,  you  know." 

"  But  —  but  you  are  such  a  terrible  —  so  terribly 
dissipated.  You  — " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  cried.  "  I  don't  drink  a  drop. 
I'm  as  sober  as  a  judge —  'Gad,  a  good  deal  soberer 
than  some  of  them  I  happen  to  know.  So  you've  heard 
of  me,  eh  ?  " 

"  Everybody  has,"  she  confessed.  "  You  are  as 
famous  as  Zip  the  What-is-it  or  the  Siamese  Twins  in 
Barnum's  Circus.  Now  I  understand.  You  haven't 
a  penny.  The  whole  county  knows  you  haven't  a 
penny.  You  poor  thing!" 

"  No  sympathy  expected,"  he  said,  unoff ended. 
"  I'm  stony  broke  and  I'm  happy."  He  hesitated  a 
moment.  "  It  just  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  start 
out  earning  my  daily  bread  by  acting  as  porter  for 
you  this  morning.  I'll  carry  your  bags  to  the  car-line 
for  twenty-five  cents.  That,  I'm  sure,  will  put  us  on 
the  proper  footing.  You  —  you've  got  twenty-five 
cents,  haven't  you?  "  His  expression  was  one  of  con- 
cern. 

"  Indeed  I  have,"  said  she,  a  dubious  shadow  in  her 
eyes.  "  But  I  have  me  doubts  about  you,"  she  went 
on,  affecting  an  Irish  brogue.  "  It's  a  subterfuge 


SHERRY     x  63 

you're  attempting.     Why  should  you  want  to  carry 
my  luggage  three  miles  for  twenty  — " 

"  I  need  the  money,"  he  said  engagingly.  "  Surely 
you  will  not  deny  me  the  opportunity  to  earn  an  honest 
quarter, —  the  first  penny  I've  ever  attempted  to  earn, 
mind  you.  You  may  be  the  means  of  starting  me  off 
on  a  brilliant,  successful  career.  What  I  need,  you 
see,  is  encouragement.  I  had  planned  to  go  down  town 
today  to  look  for  a  job.  I'm  going  to  — " 

"  They  say  you  are  utterly  worthless,  that  you'll 
end  up  in  the  gutter  or  the  —  Oh,  I'm  sorry !  L 
didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings." 

"  You  couldn't  hurt  'em  if  you  tried,"  he  assured  hei- 
cheerfully.  "  Don't  look  so  distressed.  Just  give  mer 
the  job,  that's  all  I  ask." 

"  What  will  you  do  with  the  quarter  if  I  give  it  to 
you?  "  she  demanded.  "  Buy  drink  with  it?  " 

"  I  shall  keep  it  for  ever  as  a  lucky  coin.  Didn't 
you  hear  me  say  a  moment  ago  that  I  don't  drink?  " 

"  I  have  as  much  right  to  question  your  integrity  as 
you  have  to  question  mine.  You  thought  I  was  a, 
thief." 

"  Well,  supposing  you  are,"  said  he,  "  what  differ- 
ence should  it  make  to  a  fellow  who  wants  to  earn  a 
penny  honestly?  I  don't  know  who  you  are,  but  I  do 
know  that  you're  in  a  tremendous  hurry  to  get  away 
from  that  house  on  the  hill  before  any  one  catches  you. 
I  ask  no  questions,  however.  I  offer  my  services  at  a 
price.  You  couldn't  get  any  one  else  to  carry  them  for 
you  for  less  than  a  dollar,  and  there's  not  much  chance 
for  a  lift  at  this  ungodly  hour." 

"  I'll  give  you  fifty  cents,"  she  said,  after  a  moment, 


64  SHERRY 

with  a  rueful  glance  at  the  bags.  "  You  see,  what 
makes  them  so  heavy  is  this :  I've  got  all  of  my  toilet 
silver  and  photograph  frames  and  —  don't  laugh !  — 
shoes,  and  my  own  private  library,  and  some  jars  of 
strawberry  preserve, —  do  you  like  strawberry  pre- 
serve ?  —  besides  as  much  of  a  wardrobe  as  I  could 
stuff  into  — " 

"  Well,  we'd  better  be  on  our  way,"  he  interrupted, 
with  a  sharp  look  up  the  hill.  "  Yes,  I  do  like  straw- 
berry preserve.  Here,  let  me  have  those  bags.  Fifty 
cents  on  delivery."  He  took  up  the  bags.  "  As  light 
as  feathers,"  he  said. 

She  did  not  stir.  "  You  ought  to  know  about  me 
before  it's  too  late,"  she  said,  nervously.  "  I  don't 
want  to  involve  you  in  any  — " 

"  Come  along ! "  he  urged  impatiently.  "  Talk  as 
we  walk." 

She  took  her  place  beside  him,  and  together  they 
moved  off  briskly  toward  the  city.  He  was  surprised 
to  find  she  was  taller  than  he  had  at  first  thought. 
Indeed,  now  that  she  was  relieved  of  the  burden  that 
dragged  her  down,  she  was  quite  well  above  the  med- 
ium height  for  women.  She  was  five  feet  seven  or  eight 
and  as  straight  as  an  arrow. 

"  You  may  get  into  all  kinds  of  trouble,  helping  me 
in  this  way,"  she  went  on  uneasily.  "  What  with  your 
reputation  and  my  transgressions,  we  can't  hope  for 
much  in  the  shape  of  amnesty  if  we  are  caught  red- 
handed  like  this,  so  to  speak.  You  see,  I'm  running 
away  from  home." 

He  slowed  up  suddenly.  "  Running  away  ?  You  — « 
you  don't  mean  that  you  are  —  eloping?  " 


SHERRY  W 

"  How  could  I  be  eloping? "  she  cried.  "  Who 
would  I  be  eloping  with?  Do  you  see  a  man  anywhere 
in  the  vicinity?  You  can't  elope  without  having  some 
one  to  elope  with,  can  you?  I  said  I  was  running  away 
from  home." 

"  Is  that  your  home  up  there?  Old  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton's?" 

"  It  has  been  my  home  for  fifteen  years,  but  it  isn't 
any  longer.  I'm  leaving  it  for  ever.  She  is  my  grand- 
mother, you  know." 

"  Oh !  I  remember  you  mentioned  a  grandmother." 
He  looked  back  over  his  shoulder.  "  By  George,  I  be- 
lieve I'd  run  away  from  that  place  myself  if  I  thought 
I  had  to  live  there  for  ever.  It  doesn't  look  especially 
cheerful.  Why  doesn't  she  set  out  a  few  trees  around 
the  house?  It  looks  as  cold  and  barren  as  a  Siber- 
ian — " 

"  She  had  them  all  cut  down  when  I  was  a  little  girl," 
explained  the  young  lady.  "  They  were  black  walnut, 
you  see.  Do  you  know  what  black  walnut  is  ?  " 

"  It's  wood,"  he  replied. 

"  It's  worth  a  lot  of  money  in  these  days.  You  buy 
it  by  the  ounce,  it's  so  rare.  The  walnut  that  used 
to  grow  up  there  is  now  trimming  the  insides  of  a  mil- 
lionaire's house  in  Fifth  Avenue." 

"  May  I  enquire  why  you  are  running  away  from 
home?" 

"  Surely.     It's  because  I  want  to." 

"  Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  I  engaged  you  to  carry  my  luggage,  Mr.  Red- 
path,"  she  said  pointedly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon."     For  as  many  as  three  min- 


66  SHERRY 

utes,  neither  spoke.  "  You  have  relatives  in  town,  I  be- 
lieve. I  suppose  you'll  go  to  one  of  them  — " 

"  I'm  running  away  from  them  too,"  she  was  quick 
to  inform  him.  Indeed,  she  was  rather  glad  he  did  not 
regard  her  rebuff  as  a  permanent  obstacle  to  confi- 
dences. "  I  intend  to  make  my  own  way  in  the  world. 
Oh,  don't  look  so  sceptical.  I  can  do  it,  never  fear." 

"  Sure  you  can,"  said  he  warmly.  "  You  won't  have 
the  least  bit  of  trouble  getting  married.  That's  the 
way  most  women  get  along  in  the  world." 

"  The  world  is  full  of  competent,  capable,  independ- 
ent women  who  — "  she  was  saying  indignantly. 

"  Are  you  a  suffragette?  "  he  broke  in. 

" —  Who  never  even  think  of  marrying,"  she  con- 
cluded. "  It's  the  men  who  want  to  marry,  sir.  If 
they  didn't,  they  wouldn't  be  asking  us  all  the  time. 
Walk  a  little  faster,  please.  That's  better.  I  am 
trying  to  catch  the  nine-twenty  train  for  Chicago." 

"Chicago?     It's  a  wicked  city." 

"  It  isn't  as  wicked  as  Paris,  and  I  lived  there  for 
six  years.  It's  dirtier,  that's  all." 

"  You  didn't  answer  my  question  a  while  ago.  Why 
are  you  skipping  out  like  this?  " 

"  I  did  answer  it,  but  I'll  go  a  little  further  now. 
I  feel  as  though  I  ought  to  talk  to  some  one  about  it. 
I  just  can't  get  along  with  grandmother,  if  you  must 
know.  She  is  dreadfully  set  in  her  ways." 

"  And  you  are  not,  I  take  it." 

She  flushed  warmly.  "  At  any  rate  my  ways  are 
not  stupid  and  old-fashioned." 

"  I've  always  heard  Mrs.  Compton  spoken  of  as  a 
fine,  high-minded  old  lady,"  said  he. 


SHERRY  67 

"  She  is  that !  "  exclaimed  the  girl,  with  decision. 
"  I'll  not  have  a  word  spoken  against  my  grandmother. 
She  is  wonderful.  But,  of  course,  that  doesn't  mean 
she  cannot  be  wrong  once  in  a  while.  No  one  is  per- 
fect. Isn't  that  so?  "  She  seemed  to  be  appealing  to 
him  for  support. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  non-committally.  "  Let's 
hear  your  side  of  the  controversy  first." 

"Meaning  that  I  may  be  perfect?  Well,  I'm  not. 
I'm  quite  as  much  at  fault  as  she.  No  doubt  she  con- 
siders me  an  ungrateful  —  yes,  Mr.  Redpath,  she  must 
look  upon  me  as  a  snide." 

She  appeared  to  fall  into  moody  reflection.  Some 
time  passed  before  she  sighed  and  resumed  her  com- 
ments. "  The  whole  trouble  with  grandmother  is  that 
she  doesn't  realize  that  I  am  nearly  twenty-one  years 
old,  or,  if  you  care  to  look  at  it  the  other  way, 
that  she  is  nearly  seventy-one.  It's  quite  natural 
that  we  shouldn't  see  things  in  the  same  light,  isn't 
it?" 

"  For  instance?  "  said  he  adroitly. 

"  Well,  for  instance,"  she  began,  frowning,  and  then 
thought  better  of  the  impulse.  "  Really,  you  don't 
think  I'm  such  a  goose  as  to  tell  you  of  my  private, 
personal  affairs,  do  you?  " 

"  We're  on  a  public  highway,"  he  said. 

"  I  haven't  asked  anything  about  your  affairs,  have 
I?  " 

"  It  isn't  necessary.  Everybody  knows  about  me. 
I'm  common  property." 

"  I  think,  if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so,  that  you 
deserve  a  great  deal  of  credit  for  swearing  off  drir.l< 


68  SHERRY 

and  —  I  do  hope  you'll  stick  to  your  resolution,  Mr. 
Redpath.  They  say  it's  very  difficult  to  stop  sud- 
denly. Quite  dangerous,  sometimes,  I  believe.  My 
uncle,  Henry  Bingham, —  know  him  ?  —  says  that  your 
—  that  is,  a  man's  system  demands  — " 

"  Henry  Bingham  never  took  a  man-sized  drink  in 
his  life,"  said  Sherry  scornfully.  "  What  does  he 
know  about  it?  Forgive  me  for  speaking  disrespect- 
fully of  your  uncle,  but  he  is  the  darnedest  old  sissy  in 
Farragut." 

Her  eyes  sparkled.  "  Good !  I'm  glad  to  hear  you 
say  it.  I  wish  grandmother  could  hear  you.  That's 
just  what  I've  been  trying  to  tell  her." 

He  stopped.  "  Well,  if  it  will  assist  you  in  smooth- 
ing things  over  with  her,  I'll  go  back  with  you  right 
now  and  tell  her  exactly  what  I  think  of  her  son-in-law. 
If  that's  all, — "  He  paused  eloquently. 

"  No,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "  it  would  be  fatal. 
She  has  a  very  poor  opinion  of  you.  You  wouldn't  be 
any  help,  I'm  sorry  to  say.  Come,  let's  be  moving 
along."  She  looked  at  her  watch.  "  It's  half-past 
seven.  I'm  afraid  I'll  miss  my  train,  Mr.  Redpath. 
Would  an  extra  half-dollar  spur  you  on  any?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  If  I  started  in  to  run  with  these 
things,  with  you  tagging  along  behind,  some  farmer 
would  have  a  shot  at  me  with  a  gun,  taking  me  for  a 
highwayman, —  Well,  what's  the  matter  now?  " 

"  Didn't  you  hear  the  honk  of  an  automobile  ?  Let's 
stop  here  and  wait.  Better  to  ride  than  to  walk, 
especially  — " 

"  Maybe  it's  your  grandmother  in  pursuit.  Did  you 
think  of  that?" 


SHERRY  69 

"  She  will  not  pursue  me,"  said  the  girl,  with  con- 
viction. "  I  told  her  last  night  that  I'd  be  leaving 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  and  she  said  I  could  doi 
as  I  pleased  about  it.  You  don't  know  my  grand- 
mother. She'll  never  beg  me  to  come  back." 

"  It's  a  big  red  car,"  said  he,  looking  back  over  the 
road. 

"  We'll  wait,"  said  she,  with  relief.  "  She  despises 
red." 

The  motor  approached  rapidly.  When  it  was  barely 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  she  started  violently,  a  look 
of  dismay  in  her  lovely  eyes. 

"  Come !  I  know  that  car.  I  wouldn't  get  into  it  if 
my  legs  were  dropping  off.  That's  a  Burton  car." 

"  Burton?  I  never  heard  of  the  make.  Something 
new  — " 

"  I  mean  it  belongs  to  a  Burton.  Step  to  one  side, 
quick  —  The  brute  wouldn't  hesitate  to  run  over  me. 
Don't  you  know  about  the  Burtons  ?  " 

"  I  know  Jimmy  Burton,  and  Aleck  — " 

"  I  mean  about  the  Burtons  and  —  us.  We're  ene- 
mies." 

"  Sure.     I  remember  now.     Well,  there  he  goes." 

The  big  red  car  shot  past,  throwing  a  cloud  of  dust 
over  them.  The  driver,  a  dark-faced  young  man,  gave 
them  a  look  of  interest  as  he  passed,  and  turned  later 
on  to  favour  them  with  another. 

"  I  hope  he  looks  back  again  and  runs  off  the  road 
while  he's  doing  it,"  she  said  vindictively.  "  I  trust 
he  is  no  friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Redpath,"  she  went  on, 
with  an  ominous  cloud  in  her  eyes. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  assured  her.     "  You  forget  who  I 


70  SHERRY 

am.  By  the  way,  if  I  threw  off  ten  cents,  would  you 
tell  me  your  name?  It  seems — " 

"  You  may  have  it  free,  for  nothing.  My  name  is 
O'Brien,  Morna  O'Brien.  They  called  me  Mickey  at 
school.  Me  fayther  was  Patsy  O'Brien."  She  made 
delicious  use  of  the  brogue.  "  I  am  not  allowed  to  be 
Irish,  however.  My  grandmother  hates  the  Irish. 
She  insists  that  I'm  all  Compton,  and  that's  one  of  the 
reasons  I'm  leaving  her.  My  father  was  the  very  worst 
divvel  that  ever  lived,  in  her  estimation.  I  daresay  he 
was  not  all  that  a  man  should  be, —  my  mother  some- 
times said  as  much, —  but  some  of  his  blood  is  in  my 
veins  and  I  love  a  ruction.  Whenever  I  am  especially 
irritating  to  Grandma  Compton  she  says  it's  the  beastly 
Irish  in  me, —  and  last  night  I  said  it  was  nothing  of 
the  kind.  I  said  it  was  the  unspeakable  Compton  in  me. 
The  result  was  awful.  She  said  she  was  going  to  town 
today  to  see  her  lawyer  and  change  her  will,  cutting  me 
off  with  a  penny.  I  told  her  that  it  wouldn't  be  neces- 
sary to  hurry  so  much  as  all  that,  she  could  do  it  any 
time  this  week.  I  wouldn't  touch  a  penny  of  her  money 
even  if  she  died  before  the  will  could  be  changed.  She 
has  been  bully-ragging  me  about  the  Compton  money 
all  these  years,  and  I'm  tired  of  it.  Money  isn't 
everything,  is  it,  Mr.  Redpath?  " 

She  was  in  a  fine  state  of  indignation  now.  Her 
dark  eyes  were  snapping  and  her  breast  was  heaving 
with  something  that  was  not  the  result  of  exercise. 

"Well,"  said  he  judicially,  "it  isn't  so  much  to  a 
strong,  able-bodied  man,  but  I  should  say  it  would 
come  in  very  handy  for  a  frail,  inexperienced  girl  — " 

"  Do  I  look  frail?  "  she  demanded.     "  Don't  I  look 


SHERRY  71 

as  though  I  could  earn  my  living  anywhere  in  the 
world?  Thousands  of  girls — " 

"  I  take  it  all  back,"  he  cried  hastily.  "  I  only 
meant  to  suggest  that  —  well,  that  it  isn't  to  be  sneezed 
at,  Miss  O'Brien.  Better  think  twice  before  you  give 
up  your  share  of  the  Compton  fortune.  Better  — " 

"  I'll  carry  my  bags,  if  you  please,  sir,"  she  said 
loftily.  "  Here  is  your  half-dollar, —  or  was  it  a  dol- 
lar? I  shan't  need  your  services  any — " 

"  See  here,"  he  said,  stopping  abruptly  to  confront 
her,  a  serious  note  in  his  voice,  and  an  even  more  seri- 
ous expression  in  his  eyes,  "  are  you  sure  you  know 
what  you  are  doing?  Aren't  you  likely  to  regret  all 
this  ?  Wait !  I'm  speaking  for  your  own  good,  Miss 
O'Brien.  This  is  a  pretty  serious  step  you  are  taking. 
It's  no  use  glaring  at  me  like  that,  either.  I'd  be  a  fine 
sort  of  a  man,  wouldn't  I,  if  I  let  you  go  on  without 
trying  to  show  you  what  you've  got  ahead  of  you. 
You  have  a  little  row  with  a  nice  old  lady,  fly  off  the 
handle,  slam  a  few  doors,  get  madder  and  madder  — " 

"  That's  just  what  I'm  doing  now,"  she  cried  in  exas- 
peration :  "  getting  madder  and  madder.  In  the  first 
place,  you  don't  know  anything  about  it,  and  in  the 
second  place  you're  as  fresh  as  paint.  Has  anybody 
asked  you  for  advice?  When  I  want  that,  I'll  write 
to  Laura  Jean  Libbey  or  some  other  newspaper.  I  — " 

"  I  expect  old  Mrs.  Compton  will  cry  a  little  in  the 
solitude  of  her  room  when  she  finds  you  have  skipped 
out.  And  she'll  cry  a  little  every  day,  too.  She'll 
miss  you,  and  she'll  grieve  — " 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  like  that,"  she  cried  out 
irritably. 


72  SHERRY 

"  She  has  been  good  to  you,  hasn't  she  ?  Didn't  she 
take  you  to  Paris  and  educate  you  and  —  oh,  well,  do 
a  whole  lot  of  things  for  you?  Hasn't  she  made  a 
real  bang-up  city  girl  of  you  instead  of  bringing  you 
up  like  a  country  jake?  And  hasn't  she  saved  you 
from  being  an  ordinary  little  Mick?  Answer  me — " 

"  Mr.  Redpath !     How  dare  you !  " 

"  Well,"  said  he  resignedly,  "  I'll  let  up  if  you're 
going  to  get  sore  about  it.  Thank  the  Lord,  I've  given 
you  something  to  think  about  though.  I  can  see  the 
tears  back  there  in  your  eyes  now." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  many  minutes.  Fi- 
nally she  turned  to  him.  Her  eyes  were  soft  and  dark 
and  sweet,  and  there  was  a  shy  smile  at  the  corners  of 
htr  mouth. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  spoke  as  I  did  to  you.  You'll  forgive 
me,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I've  been  thinking  for  the  past  five  minutes  that  I 
ought  to  ask  your  forgiveness.  I  — " 

"  Well,"  she  said  quaintly,  "  if  you'll  forgive  me  I'll 
forgive  you." 

"Done!" 

"  But,  mind  you,  I'm  not  going  back,"  she  declared 
resolutely.  "  I'm  going  to  be  free,  and  I'm  never 
going  to  touch  a  cent  of  her  money." 

"  Just  as  you  like,"  said  he  magnanimously. 
'*  That  reminds  me.  You're  starting  out  in  the  world 
on  your  own.  How  much  capital  have  you?  How 
much  money  have  you  got  in  your  pocket?  " 

She  hesitated.  "  I  guess  it's  perfectly  safe  to  tell 
you,"  she  said.  "  It's  broad  daylight.  I  have  thirty- 
seven  dollars  and  fifty  cents  cash  and  my  Savings  Bank 


SHERRY  73 

pass-book.  I  have  nearly  a  thousand  dollars  in  the 
bank.  Now  are  you  satisfied?  " 

He  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  Well,  that  alters  things 
considerably.  I  sha'n't  reproach  myself  for  having 
helped  you  to  run  away.  And,  by  the  way,"  with  an 
uneasy  glance  overhead,  "  I'd  suggest  that  we  do  a  bit 
of  actual  running.  It  will  be  raining  in  thirty  seconds, 
and  unless  we  can  make  that  bridge  ahead  there,  you'll 
be  drenched  to  the  skin.  Come  along !  " 

She  had  paid  but  little  heed  to  the  darkening  skies; 
her  mind  was  too  completely  occupied  by  the  enterprise 
that  confronted  her.  But  he  had  watched  the  gather- 
ing clouds  with  concern.  From  afar  off  he  had 
sighted  the  concrete  culvert  that  spanned  the  dry  run 
through  which,  in  the  wet  spring  months,  flood  waters 
from  the  hillside  fields  rushed  down  to  swell  the  tor- 
rent in  Burton's  Creek.  He  saw  no  other  shelter. 
They  would  have  to  scramble  down  the  embankment 
and  establish  themselves  under  the  protecting  arch  of 
the  bridge. 

Morna  O'Brien  outraced  him.  She  was  strong,  fleet 
footed  and  free  in  her  stride. 

"  Hurry ! "  she  called  out  over  her  shoulder,  a  thrill 
of  exultation  in  her  voice.  She  plunged  recklessly 
down  the  side  of  the  road  and  scuttled  like  a  rabbit 
into  the  shelter  of  the  bridge.  A  second  later  her  bags 
and  her  porter  came  clattering  after  her, —  and  then 
the  deluge. 

"  Gosh !  "  he  gasped,  leaning  weakly  against  the  con- 
crete wall.  "  They  must  be  filled  with  pig-iron !  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

NEVER  had  he  known  it  to  rain  so  hard.  The 
water  came  straight  down  in  sheets,  with  a 
roar  that  was  almost  deafening,  and  so  thick 
was  the  curtain  it  produced  that  Compton's  Woods  to 
the  left  and  the  yellow  wheat-fields  to  the  right  were 
completely  obscured.  There  was  thunder  and  light- 
ning too, —  venomous  crashes  and  flashes. 

Miss  O'Brien  shrank  against  the  wall,  her 
hands  pressed  to  her  ears.  Her  eyes  were  tightly 
closed.  She  was  panting  from  the  wild  dash  she  had 
made  for  shelter. 

"  It  will  soon  be  over,"  he  shouted,  his  lips  close  to 
an  obstructing  hand. 

"  What?  "  she  gasped,  opening  her  eyes  slightly. 

"  Just  a  little  thunder  shower,"  he  bawled. 

*'  An  hour?     Oh,  dear  me,  I  — " 

Gently  but  firmly  he  removed  the  hand  nearest  him, 
and  repeated  his  observation,  adding:  "Lay  the  dust 
nicely  too.  Cool  the  air  off  wonderfully." 

She  stared  into  the  veil  of  water.  "  Cats  and  dogs," 
she  remarked, — "  and  pitchforks.  Goodness,  what  a 
torrent!  I'm  glad  we  got  here  ahead  of  it,  aren't 
you?" 

"  I  never  knew  before  why  the  county  builds  concrete 
culverts,"  he  said,  breathing  heavily.  "  Retreats  for 

tramps.     Hello,  we're  going  to  have  a  raging  river 

74 


SHERRY  75 

zipping  through  here  if  it  do«.oii't  let  up  pretty  soon." 

The  dry  bed  of  the  run  was  already  hidden  by  a  rap- 
idly increasing  stream  of  water.  He  took  off  his  coat 
and  spread  it  on  the  base  ledge  of  the  abutment. 

"  Hop  up,"  he  said,  "  you'll  get  your  feet  wet  if  you 
—  that's  the  way !  High  and  dry."  He  placed  the 
suit-cases  on  the  ledge  and  then  sat  down  beside  her. 
Their  heels  were  well  above  the  still  puny  stream. 
"  We  can  watch  it  grow  into  a  regular  rivulet,"  he  ex- 
plained. "I've  never  seen  a  rivulet  grow,  have  you?  " 

"  Thank  you  so  much  for  running  the  way  you  did 
with  those  silly  bags,"  she  said  irrelevantly.  "  I  never 
could  have  managed  them  myself.  Oh,  goodness !  I'll 
bet  that  struck  somewhere  near ! "  The  most  appall- 
ing crash  splintered  the  air.  Even  Redpath  cringed. 
"I  —  Oh,  I  do  hope  it  didn't  strike  grandma's  house. 
She's  mortally  afraid  of  lightning.  Would  you  mind 
peeping  out  to  see  if  —  But,  how  stupid  of  me. 
You'd  get  soaked, —  and  I  can't  ask  you  to  do  that  for 
fifty  cents.  Come  back!  You'll  be  struck  and  killed. 
Oh,  dear  me!  " 

He  came  back,  but  not  before  peering  intently  if 
fruitlessly  down  the  road.  "  I  beg  to  report  that  the 
house  is  still  standing." 

"  You're  wet.     How  silly." 

"  Would  the  old  lady  be  in  a  closet  or  under  the 
bed  ?  What  are  her  habits  in  time  of  — " 

"  I'll  thank  you  not  to  speak  disrespectfully  of  my 
grandmother,"  she  broke  in,  stiffly. 

"  That's  right,"  he  agreed.  "  I  don't  seem  to  know 
my  place.  You  see,  it's  my  first  job." 

She  was  not  listening  to  him.     Her  brow  was  fur- 


76  SHERRY 

rowed,  a  troubled  light  in  her  eyes.  "  She  always  has 
me  come  in  and  get  into  bed  with  her  when  it  storms, 
and  in  the  daytime  she  closes  all  the  windows  and  pulls 
down  the  shades.  I  —  I  wonder  what  she's  doing  now. 
I  wonder  if  she  has  been  calling  to  me  —  Oh,  dear ! 
Say  something  cheerful,  Mr.  Redpath.  I  don't  like  to 
think  of  the  poor  old  dear  creeping  out  of  bed  to  look 
for  me  and  — " 

"  Only  to  find  that  you've  vanished,"  he  supplied  as 
she  paused.  He  spoke  softly,  but  she  heard  him. 

"Do  you  really  think  it  will  soon  be  over?"  she 
asked,  twisting  her  fingers  nervously. 

"  No  telling,"  he  replied  grimly.  "  That's  a  fear- 
fully exposed  place  for  a  house  too."  He  waited  a  few 
moments.  "  I  suppose  she'll  be  terribly  worried  if  she 
thinks  you're  wandering  about  in  this  storm, —  By 
the  way,  I  hope  her  heart  is  good.  Old  people  some- 
times go  just  like  that."  He  snapped  his  fingers. 
"  Seems  awful  that  she  should  be  all  alone  up  there  — 
But,  of  course,  she  isn't  alone.  Your  brother  is  un- 
doubtedly — " 

"  I  have  no  brother,"  she  said  miserably.  "  She 
is  all  alone.  The  servants  sleep  in  the  west  wing, — 
Oh,  I  wish  I'd  waited  till  this  afternoon." 

"  I'm  glad  you  didn't,"  said  he.  "  I'd  be  out  of  a 
job  if  you  had,  you  know.  And  what's  more,  I'd  prob- 
ably be  out  there  in  the  woods  with  lightning  striking 
the  trees  on  all  sides  of  me.  Gee !  That  was  a  ripper, 
wasn't  it?  That  hit  something  big,  sure  as  you're 
alive." 

She  had  her  hands  over  her  ears  again,  but  her  eyes 
were  wide  open. 


SHERRY  77 

"  Poor  old  granny !  She  has  been  awfully  good  to 
me,  Mr.  Redpath.  Awfully.  And  I  was  a  terrible  pest 
when  I  was  little.  I  was  like  my  father,  I  suppose. 
Oh,  dear,  will  it  never  stop?  "  She  turned  on  him  re- 
proachfully. "  You  said  it  was  only  a  summer  shower ! 
Look  at  it!  Listen  to  it!  No!  Don't  try  to  explain. 
Any  fool  can  see  that  it  isn't  a  shower.  It's  the  wrath 
of  God!  It  wouldn't  have  happened  if  I'd  stayed  at 
home.  The  sky  was  as  clear  as  a  crystal  when  I 
started  out.  Then,  suddenly,  everything  got  black 
and—" 

"  I  think  it's  beginning  to  let  up  a  bit,"  he  broke  in 
soothingly. 

"  Is  it  truly  ?  "  she  cried.  "  The  thunder  does  seem 
to  be  a  little  farther  away,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

He  was  silent,  thinking  hard,  trying  to  decide  a  very; 
serious  question  that  had  been  troubling  him  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour. 

Finally  she  sighed,  somewhat  contentedly.  "  Granny 
will  be  perfectly  delighted  with  all  this  rain.  She  has 
been  praying  for  it  for  days.  All  of  our  harvesting  is 
done,  you  see." 

"  Umph,"  was  his  only  response.  He  was  staring 
thoughtfully  at  the  new  little  brook. 

She  gave  him  a  look  of  annoyance. 

"  Of  course,  it's  pretty  hard  on  the  farmers  who 
haven't  got  their  wheat  cut  and —  Is  there  anything 
the  matter  with  you?  "  she  demanded  querulously. 

He  had  reached  a  conclusion.  The  proper  course 
revealed  itself  quite  plainly  and  he  would  follow  it  up. 
It  was  a  part  of  his1  strategy  to  look  gloomy  and  dis- 
trait. 


78  SHERRY 

"  I  beg  pardon?  " 

"  Do  you  think  you've  caught  cold?  "  There  was  a 
small  note  of  concern  in  her  voice.  "  I  have  some  as- 
perin  in  my  bag, —  I  don't  know  which  one, —  and  if 
you'll  take  ten  grains  — " 

"  I'm  all  right,  thanks,"  he  said,  the  sadness  deepen- 
ing in  his  eyes.  He  rather  liked  her  for  thinking  of 
the  asperin.  He  knew  her  kind.  She  was  one  of  those 
gentle-hearted  girls  who  are  always  trying  to  "  mo- 
ther "  a  fellow. 

"  Cheer  up,"  she  cried.     "  See  how  light  it's  getting, 

—  and  the  rain  is  stopping."     He  was  unresponsive. 
She  studied  him  for  a  long  time  in  utter  perplexity. 
What  had  come  over  him  ?     He  had  been  so  gay  and 

—  impulsively    she    laid    a    little    hand    on    his    arm. 
"Have  I  said  anything  to  hurt  your  feelings?     I'm 
sorry  if  — " 

**  Lord  love  you,  no,"  he  interrupted.  "  I  know  it 
will  make  you  very  angry,  but  I  can't  get  my  thoughts 
off  that  frightened  old  lady  —  But  there !  Never 
mind;  I'll  try  to  forget  her.  She's  nothing  to  me,  of 
course,  so  why  should  I  care  what  happens  to  her? 
Still  I  — "  and  he  fell  to  brooding  again  without  com- 
pleting the  sentence. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  and  looked  away  suddenly.  Pres- 
ently she  began  to  beat  a  soft  tattoo  with  her  dangling 
heels. 

"  I  know  it's  silly  of  me,"  he  resumed,  "  but  I'm  such 
a  soft  idiot  that  I  just  can't  bear  the  thought  of  — 
well,  especially  old  people  being  miserable  and  un- 
happy,—  and  afraid.  You  see,  it's  so  much  worse 
when  old  people  are  afraid  of  things.  Young  people 


SHERRY  79 

don't  matter  so  much.  But  old  people  get  to  thinking 
about  death  and  — " 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  like  this,"  she  cried. 

"  Well,  they  do,  you  know,"  ke  persisted.  "  It's 
only  natural.  They  know  they  haven't  many  years 
left  and  —  Oh,  what's  the  good  of  getting  all  worked 
up  like  this  over  nothing?  I  daresay  your  grand- 
mother is  good  for  ten  or  fifteen  years  more, —  and 
besides  she  may  not  have  heard  the  storm  at  all.  Lots 
of  people  sleep  right  through  the  most  horrible  — '* 

"  She  never  does,"  cried  Miss  O'Brien  unhappily. 
"  And  she  hasn't  been  very  well  lately,  either.  I  —  I 
wish  I  knew  how  she  — "  She  broke  off  to  look  at  him 
with  eyes  in  which  trouble  lurked  and  spoke  volumes. 

A  marvellously  pretty  girl,  thought  he. 

"  Of  course,"  he  reflected  aloud,  "  it  isn't  likely  that 
anything  could  have  happened  to  her  this  —  Oh,  by 
the  way,  she  was  all  right  when  you  left,  wasn't  she?  " 

She  looked  startled.  "I  —  I  suppose  so.  I  went 
out  the  back  way,  Mr.  Redpath.  She  sleeps  till  eight." 

"  Sometimes  they  never  wake  up,"  he  began  senten- 
tiously,  "  and  then,  on  the  other  hand,"  he  made  haste 
to  qualify,  noting  the  distress  in  her  eyes,  "  she  may 
not  have  slept  at  all  last  night,  worrying  over  the  way 
she  abused  you, —  her  unspeakable  cruelty  and  arro- 
gance, and  all  that.  It  wouldn't  surprise  me  in  the 
least  to  hear  that  she's  had  a  stroke.  Is  there  any 
one  about  the  place  with  sense  enough  to  telephone  for 
the  doc  — "  He  broke  off  suddenly  as  if  dismayed  by 
his  lack  of  consideration  for  her  feelings.  "  Oh,  I'm 
sorry  if  I've  alarmed  you  with  — " 

"  She's  not  a  termagent,"  said  Miss  O'Brien,  paling, 


80  SHERRY 

but  managing  with  considerable  effectiveness  to  main- 
tain her  dignity.  "  If  I  conveyed  such  an  impression, 
I  must  correct  it  at  once.  Mrs.  Compton  is  not  harsh 
or  cruel  or  overbearing.  She  is  one  of  the  best  women 
in  the  world." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,"  he  said. 

"  Sorry  ?     And  why  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  I  wanted  to  hate  her  for  your  sake,  but  —  by 
George,  it's  hard  to  hate  her,  if  she's  all  you  now  say 
she  is,  left  alone  up  there  to  grieve  and  droop  and,  as 
I  said  before,  blame  herself  for  having  made  you  so 
unhappy  you  couldn't  endure  the  thought  of  living  in 
the  same  house  with  — " 

"  Mr.  Redpath,  if  you  don't  stop  talking  like  this," 
said  she,  "  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  not  speak  to  me  at 
all.  I  employed  you  as  a  porter  and  not  as  a  —  a 
what-do-you-call  it?  —  a  wet  blanket.  Goodness 
knows  I'm  not  happy,  running  off  like  this,  and  to  have 
you, —  Why,  you  positively  make  me  feel  like  a  crim- 
inal. I  thought  you  might  cheer  me  up  a  bit  as  we 
went  along,  but,  good  heavens,  you're  the  worst  gloom 
I've  ever  seen." 

"  We'll  talk  of  something  else,  then,"  he  said,  so- 
berly. "  Heaven  is  my  witness,  I  don't  want  to  think 
of  that  poor  old  lady  up  there,  eating  her  heart  out 
because —  No,  sirree,  I  prefer  to  think  of  something 
cheerful.  Naturally,  I'm  an  optimist.  I'm  never  blue 
or  lugubrious.  It's  nothing  to  my  discredit,  however, 
that  I  happen  to  be  tender-hearted,  and  when  I  come 
up  against  a  situation  like  this,  I  just  feel  as  though 
I  can't  resist  the  impulse  to  go  back  there  and  do  what 
I  can  to  console  and  comfort  — " 


SHERRY  81 

"  There  you  go  again !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  her  lip 
trembled. 

"  Here  you  are,  young  and  strong,  with  the  world 
ahead  of  you,  going  forth  to  conquer,  and  there  she  is, 
old  and  —  didn't  you  say  she  was  not  feeling  up  to  the 
mark  lately  ?  —  and  frail  —  Yes,  yes,  it's  much  bet- 
ter not  to  think  about  it,  Miss  O'Brien.  You  are  quite 
right.  We'll  be  cheerful.  I  think  the  rain  has  stopped 
altogether.  We'd  better  be  on  our  way.  Nearly 
eight  o'clock.  We'll  have  to  sprint  some  if  we  are  to 
catch  that  train." 

He  heard  her  sigh  as  he  took  up  the  bags  and  picked 
his  way  along  the  edge  of  the  little  stream  toward  the 
opening.  The  storm  was  over.  The  sun  was  trying 
to  sift  its  way  through  the  dispersing  clouds.  The 
world  looked  bright  and  clean  and  sweet  and  the  air 
was  laden  with  the,  scent  of  wet  soil. 

He  looked  back.  She  was  still  perched  upon  the 
ledge,  and  her  chin  was  lowered.  Subduing  a  desire  to 
grin  all  over,  he  began  the  laborious  ascent  of  the 
muddy,  slippery  embankment. 

Some  little  time  passed  before  she  appeared  at  the 
bottom  of  the  cut.  He  went  half  way  down  to  give  her 
a  hand  in  ascending.  Clutching  her  skirts  with  one 
hand,  she  gave  him  the  other,  and  was  whisked  up  the 
bank. 

"  Wait,"  she  said,  as  he  took  up  the  bags.  Her 
eyes  were  very  dark  and  wistful  as  they  gazed  past  him 
in  the  direction  from  which  they  had  come.  Then 
they  searched  the  clearing  sky  with  speculative  sever- 
ity. "  I  don't  believe  the  storm  is  over,"  she  said. 
"  See  those  dreadful  clouds  ?  " 


82  SHERRY 

He  looked.  "  The  tag  end  of  catastrophe,"  said 
he,  reassuringly.  "  We're  safe  enough  now,  Miss 
O'Brien." 

There  was  a  far-away,  faint  flicker  of  lightning  in 
the  north,  whence  the  storm  had  swept. 

"  See !  "  she  cried  triumphantly.  "  Did  you  see  that 
terrible  flash?  It's  coming  back." 

He  appeared  gravely  alarmed.  "  I  hope  not. 
They're  always  more  violent  when  they  come  back  over 
a  partially  devastated  territory.  Seems  as  though 
they  want  to  finish  up  the  job — " 

"  Mr.  Redpath,"  she  began,  with  decision  in  her 
voice,  "  I  have  been  thinking  over  what  you  said  a  few 
minutes  ago.  If  you'll  carry  the  bags  as  far  as  the 
gate  I'll  be  ever  so  much  obliged ;  I  will  carry  them  the 
rest  of  the  way  myself." 

He  could  hardly  conceal  his  satisfaction.  "  You 
mean  you  are  going  back  home?"  He  tried  to  look 
incredulous. 

"  I  shall  catch  the  afternoon  train,"  she  said,  with 
some  asperity.  "  It  leaves  Farragut  at  four  o'clock." 

"  I  see,"  said  he.  "  I  think  it's  a  very  good  idea. 
Allow  me  to  suggest,  however,  that  I  go  on  to  town 
now  with  the  bags,  and  deliver  them  to  you  at  the  sta- 
tion. It  will  save  carrying  them  — " 

She  faced  him  squarely.  "  I  may  as  well  confess, 
Mr.  Redpath,  that  I've  changed  my  mind.  I'm  not  go- 
ing away.  Don't  ask  questions,  please.  I  sha'n't  an- 
swer them." 

"  I  don't  have  to  ask  'em,"  he  said  readily,  "  because 
they're  already  answered." 

They  trudged  along  in  silence.     He  had  difficulty  in 


SHERRY  83 

keeping  pace  with  her.  She  did  not  attempt  to  avoid 
the  puddles  in  the  road,  but  forged  ahead  eagerly,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  house  at  the  top  of  the  hill. 

"  She  has  been  a  mother  to  me,"  said  Miss  O'Brien, 
after  many  minutes,  addressing  her  remark  to  the  hori- 
zon. 

"  If  we  hurry  we  may  get  there  before  she  finds  out 
that  you've  left,"  said  he,  with  singular  penetration. 

"Do  you  think  we  could?  "  she  cried,  her  eyes  shin- 
ing. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  he  enthusiastically :  "  you 
run  on  ahead  and  let  me  follow  as  fast  as  I  can.  You 
may  be  able  to  get  in, —  the  back  way, —  before 
she—" 

"  How  clever  you  are !  I  would  never  have  thought 
of  that.  Oh,  I'd  give  my  very  soul  if  I  could  — " 

"Well,  beat  it!"  he  cried.  "Don't  worry  about 
the  evidence.  I'll  hide  'em  in  the  hedge  if  you  think 
best.  She  may  never  know." 

"  No,"  she  said,  compressing  her  lips.  "  I  sha'n't 
deceive  her.  I've  never  deceived  her  in  my  life,  Mr. 
Redpath,  and  I  sha'n't  begin  now.  I'm  going  to  tell 
her  everything.  I  want  her  to  see  the  suit-cases  and  I 
want  her  to  see  me  carrying  them  home.  Maybe  she'll 
forgive  me  sooner  if  she  sees  me  —  Do  hurry,  please ! 
She  has  been  complaining  of  a  pain  in  her  left  side, 
and  —  Look !  There's  a  car  coming  down  our  drive. 
I  —  I  wonder  — " 

"  It's  the  chase,"  said  he,  thrilled  by  a  new  excite- 
ment. "  And  they're  coming  fast  too.  I  say,  did  you 
leave  a  note  for  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  did.     I  pinned  it  to  my  pillow. 


84  SHERRY 

Just  a  good-bye  note,  telling  her  —  Oh,  dear,  I  wish 
I  hadn't  said  what  I  did  in  that  note." 

"Snippy?" 

"  I  said  I'd  never  darken  her  doors  again.  I  —  I 
hope  they're  not  going  for  the  doctor  —  good  heavens, 
I'm  trembling  like  a  — " 

"  There's  a  woman  in  the  back  seat, —  a  woman  with 
a  black  bonnet,"  he  broke  in,  gazing  intently. 

"That's  Granny!"  she  cried  joyously.  "Don't 
look  at  me,  please !  " 

An  unmistakable  sniffle  came  to  his  ears.  He  could 
control  his  eyes,  but  not  his  ears ;  nor  could  he  control 
the  twitching  sensation  that  troubled  his  lips.  He  was 
having  great  difficulty  in  keeping  a  smile  from  expand- 
ing into  a  grin  that  would  have  been  most  offensive  if 
she  had  caught  him  at  it. 

The  big  automobile  had  whirled  into  the  highway  and 
was  coming  toward  them  at  a  furious  rate.  Miss 
O'Brien  began  waving  her  handkerchief  frantically. 

Sherry  deposited  the  bags  at  the  roadside  and  wiped 
his  forehead.  His  whilom  employer  sped  onward,  for- 
getting him  completely.  Quite  well  pleased  with  him- 
self, he  up-ended  a  suit-case  and  sat  down  upon  it  to 
await  developments,  overlooking  the  fact  that  mud, 
while  not  as  penetrating  as  water,  is  by  no  means  as 
clean  and  sparkling. 

A  hundred  feet  away  the  machine  came  to  a  stop. 
Sharp,  treble-voiced  cries  sounded  above  the  purr  of 
the  engine.  A  black-crowned  head  popped  over  the 
side  of  the  car  and  black  arms  gathered  in  the  tan- 
coloured  figure  that  had  scrambled  onto  the  running 
board.  Sherry  studiously  inspected  the  forest. 


SHERRY  85 

Presently  a  coarse,  unlovely  masculine  voice  dis- 
turbed his  pleasant  reflections.  Diverting  his  gaze,  he 
looked  with  some  annoyance  upon  the  individual  who 
shouted.  The  driver  of  the  car, —  a  red-faced  fellow 
in  his  shirt-sleeves, —  was  beckoning  him  to  approach. 

"Hey!     Bring  them  valises  here,  will  you?" 

He  took  up  his  burden  once  more  and  advanced. 
Miss  O'Brien's  head  was  resting  on  the  shoulder  of  the 
little  old  lady,  and  neither  observed  his  approach. 

"  Put  'em  up  here  in  front,  young  feller,"  ordered 
the  driver,  eyeing  him  with  unmistakable  animosity. 

"  All  right,"  said  Sherry  cheerily.  He  succeeded, 
with  well-managed  clumsiness,  in  putting  one  of  them 
rather  earnestly  against  the  exposed  knee  of  the  driver, 
who  said  something  under  his  breath,  and  threw  in  the 
clutch  viciously.  Sherry  sprang  aside  as  the  car 
leaped  ahead,  preparatory  to  making  the  complete 
turn  for  home.  He  had  the  impression  a  moment 
later  that  the  fellow  was  trying  to  back  the  machine 
over  him  as  he  stood  there,  hat  in  hand,  beaming  upon 
the  unheeding  occupants  of  the  tonneau. 

Then  the  car  shot  off  homeward,  leaving  him  stand- 
ing with  bared  head,  the  smile  dying  in  his  eyes  long 
before  it  disappeared  from  his  lips. 

"  Well,"  he  mused,  as  the  driver  turned  in  at  the  dis- 
tant gate,  "  my  first  job  wasn't  a  lucrative  one."  He 
fingered  the  brass  check  in  his  pocket.  "  Anyhow,  I'm 
glad  she's  happy  enough  to  forget  everything  else  in 
the  world.  It  was  a  good  day's  work,  even  though  I 
didn't  get  a  cent  for  it.  It  was  worth  fifty  dollars  just 
to  hear  her  sniffle." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HIS  sigh  was  a  long  one,  as  of  pleasant  fatigue. 
He  was  far  from  being  vexed.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  would  have  been  most  embarrassing 
for  him  when  the  time  came  for  her  to  produce  the  coin 
that  was  to  settle  their  account.  A  fifty  cent  piece 
was  such  a  small  thing!  The  more  he  thought  of  it, 
the  more  relieved  he  was  that  she  had  gone  off  without 
paying.  He  was  spared  a  most  unsentimental  mo- 
ment,—  and  so  was  she,  no  doubt.  His  cogitations,  as 
he  climbed  the  fence  and  set  off  briskly  through  the 
woods,  included  pictures  of  her  confusion  in  passing 
the  coin  to  the  notorious  spendthrift,  Sheridan  Red- 
path, —  and  there  were  other  thoughts  that  bespoke  a 
certain  jauntiness  in  his  physical  as  well  as  his  mental 
reconstruction. 

Deep  in  the  woods  he  suddenly  realized  that  he  was 
repeating  over  and  over  again  the  melodious,  plaintive 
word  "  Morna."  Morna !  What  a  world  of  tender- 
ness there  was  in  those  two  syllables.  One  couldn't 
utter  them  harshly  if  he  tried  —  and  he  did  try.  He 
drew  the  first  syllable  out  in  a  long,  soft  whisper,  and, 
letting  it  die  away  in  the  second,  was  conscious  of  a 
queer  delight  in  the  tunefulness  of  it.  He  cut  the  syl- 
lables off  then  in  quick,  staccato,  business-like  jerks 
and  still  there  was  a  gentle  caress  in  them.  The  name 
was  one  he  had  never  heard  before.  Then  and  there 

86 


SHERRY  87 

he  decided  that  if  he  ever  had  a  daughter  he  would  call 
her  Morna.  Meadow-larks  were  calling  to  each  other 
in  the  distant  wheat-fields.  He  loved  the  lilt  of  the 
meadow-lark.  Two  songs  now  were  running  through 
his  brain, —  and  both  were  of  the  fresh,  new  morning. 
An  impulse  to  be  nearer  the  blithe  caroller  in  the  wheat- 
fields  came  over  him;  an  aimless  sense  of  wandering 
gave  way  to  definite  purpose;  he  turned  and  walked 
slowly  back  over  the  ground  just  traversed. 

Several  hundred  yards  from  the  highway,  he  stopped 
to  cut  for  himself  another  walking  stick.  He  was  con- 
scious of  a  sudden  sheepishness.  The  cutting  of  the 
"  shoot  "  from  the  base  of  the  haw-tree  provided  an 
occupation,  and,  to  some  extent,  a  definite  reason  for 
his  return  to  that  particular  part  of  the  woods.  He 
recalled,  in  pleased  self-apology,  that  he  had  re- 
marked to  himself  as  he  passed  this  very  tree  earlier  in 
the  morning  that  never  had  he  seen  sprouts  so  admi- 
rably shaped  for  walking-sticks  as  these. 

He  leaned  against  a  tree  and  vigorously  whittled 
away  on  his  new  cane,  stripping  the  twigs  with  especial 
regard  for  nobbiness,  and  with  a  laudable  desire  to  im- 
prove upon  the  one  he  had  cast  aside  when  he  took  up 
the  burdens  of  Miss  Morna  O'Brien.  Now  and  then 
he  directed  a  somewhat  intensified  gaze  upon  the  house 
of  the  Widow  Compton,  plainly  visible  from  a  singularly 
well-chosen  position  among  the  trees.  At  such  times 
his  knife,  fortunately,  was  idle. 

A  pensive,  far-away  look  settled  in  his  eyes.  How 
long  it  remained  there  he  never  knew ;  having  the  means 
but  not  the  inclination  to  calculate  time,  he  was  content 
to  dawdle.  And,  curiously  enough,  the  meadow-larks, 


88  SHERRY 

singing  louder  than  ever  before,  poured  their  melody 
upon  deaf  ears.  He  was  day-dreaming, —  an  unpar- 
donable offence  in  a  man  who  sleeps  well  at  night. 

Suddenly  he  started,  his  eyes  lost  their  dreamy  ex- 
pression, his  body  its  indolent  attitude.  An  automo- 
bile stole  out  of  the  barnyard  gate  on  the  hilltop,  and 
a  moment  later  shot  into  the  hedge-lined  avenue;  then 
it  came  racing  down  to  the  main  highway. 

A  delighted  grin  spread  over  his  face.  No  spy-glass 
was  needed  to  tell  him  who  was  driving  the  car  at  such 
break-neck  speed.  There  was  no  other  occupant. 
She  came  alone  and  the  gay  panama  hat  was  missing. 

With  the  perversity  of  a  woman,  he  deliberately  hid 
himself  behind  the  tree  against  which  he  had  been  lean- 
ing, and,  from  the  obscurity  of  shadow  and  distance, 
spied  warily  upon  the  actions  of  Morna  O'Brien. 

Coming  to  the  highway,  she  brought  the  car  to  an 
abrupt  stop.  Then  she  stood  up  and  peered  cityward 
along  the  road.  He  was  too  far  away  to  make  out  the 
expression  of  her  face,  but  her  attitude  bespoke  in- 
tense concern.  After  a  moment,  she  flopped  back  into 
the  seat  and  began  to  ply  the  Klaxon  horn.  Never 
had  he  heard  a  more  appalling  din  than  she  made  for 
the  next  two  or  three  minutes.  Failing  to  resurrect 
him  from  any  comfortable  nearby  resting-place,  she 
threw  in  the  clutch  and  drove  rapidly  toward  town, 
but  not  before  she  had  indulged  in  a  long  and  intense 
scrutiny  of  the  thick  woodland. 

He  laughed  aloud  in  his  elation.  "  She's  remem- 
bered the  fifty  cents,  bless  her  heart,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "Well,  that's  all  I  ask,  just  that  she  should 
remember  it  and  try  to  do  the  right  thing.  Good-bye, 


SHERRY  89 

Morna  O'Brien !  You  gave  me  a  little  sunshine  and  a 
mighty  nice  job  to  boot.  I  may  never  see  you  again, 
so  I  thank  you  for  the  first  happy  hour  I've  had  in 
years.  I'll  never  have  another  just  like  the  one  you 
gave  me, —  you  and  your  excess  baggage.  God  love 
you  for  trying  to  find  me, —  and  forgive  me  for  hid- 
ing!'' 

Happy  once  more,  and  strangely  exalted,  he  fled 
into  the  depths  of  the  wood  again.  Somehow  he  did 
not  relish  the  prospect  of  witnessing  her  return  after 
the  fruitless  search  for  her  creditor.  Afterwards  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  might  have  spared  her  many 
a  twinge  of  conscience  if  he  had  stepped  forth  to  collect 
his  wage. 

In  time  he  came  once  more  to  his  "  camp."  Devas- 
tation met  his  gaze.  The  rain  had  played  havoc  wit!* 
the  paste-board  box  in  the  forks  of  the  tree.  It  was  a. 
sorry  spectacle.  He  climbed  up  and  recovered  the  one^ 
object  that  retained  its  customary  shape:  Mrs.  Doyle's 
thermos  bottle.  Cleansing  it  in  the  stream  and  drying* 
it  carefully  with  his  handkerchief,  he  stuffed  it  into  his 
pocket,  and,  after  collecting  his  "  laundry  "  from  the 
mud  into  which  it  had  been  blown  by  the  wind,  he  set 
out  for  town.  His  cherished  luncheon  was  gone, 
soaked  out  of  all  recognition  by  the  storm,  but  he  was 
not  down-hearted, —  not  even  dismayed.  He  would 
earn  his  next  meal,  or  go  hungry,  said  he  to  himself  as 
he  strode  down  the  slope  toward  Hooper  Street.  The 
time  for  loafing  and  rehabilitation  was  over.  His  eye 
was  clear,  his  brain  was  awake,  and  his  limbs  were 
strong  and  steady. 

The  awakening  of  a  long  passive  gallantry  impelled 


90  SHERRY 

him  to  deviate  widely  from  his  course  to  visit  a  thick 
clump  of  wild  rose  bushes.  There  he  made  up  a  huge 
bouquet  of  fresh  red  roses,  and,  with  these  in  his  hand, 
sauntered  gaily  down  the  street  to  the  home  of  Officer 
Barney  Doyle,  oblivious  to  the  stares  and  grins  of  un- 
sentimental passersby. 

If  Mrs.  Doyle,  a  comely  woman  of  forty-five,  was 
surprised  by  the  delicate  tribute  of  this  tall  young  man 
she  was  also  immensely  pleased.  So  pleased  indeed 
was  she  that  she  aroused  Barney  from  his  early  morn- 
ing slumber  and  ordered  him  forthwith  to  appear  in  the 
little  parlour.  Nor  was  Barney  irritated  when  he  came 
sleepily  downstairs,  half-clad,  to  greet  the  disturber. 

Sherry  declined  their  hospitable  invitation  to  par- 
take of  a  specially  prepared  breakfast. 

"  No  more  hand-outs  for  me,"  said  he  resolutely. 
"  I'm  an  able-bodied  labourer  from  now  on,  Mrs. 
Doyle.  I  shall  work  for  my  breakfast,  my  dinner  and 
my  supper, —  and  I'll  sleep  when  the  good  Lord  lets 
me."  He  gave  her  his  whimsical  smile.  "  You  don't 
happen  to  have  any  wood  that  needs  chopping,  or  a 
lawn  that  requires  shaving,  or  — " 

"  God  bless  me  soul,"  said  Barney  Doyle.  "  Will 
ye  listen  to  that !  " 

"  And  you  a  college  graduate,"  said  his  wife,  aghast. 
"  The  son  of  Robert  Redpath  doin'  the  work  of  a  dago 
—  Why,  Mr.  Redpath,  your  poor  father  would  turn 
completely  over  in  his  grave,  God  rest  his  soul." 

"  Well,"  said  Sherry,  "  I  have  reason  to  suspect  he 
has  had  to  do  it  a  good  many  times,  if  he  has  kept  tab 
on  the  actions  of  his  only  son  and  heir." 

Barney's  shrewd  little  eyes  were  studying  him  spec- 


SHERRY  91 

ulatively.  "  Bedad,"  said  he  at  last,  "  ye  might  do 
worse  than  mow  a  lawn  or  two." 

"  For  the  love  of  Mike ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Doyle, 
witheringly.  "  Go  back  to  bed." 

Her  husband  ignored  the  command. 

"  Hard  work  hurts  no  man,"  said  he,  "  and  some- 
times it  makes  a  fella  forget  his  troubles,  likewise  his 
sins.  Come  here  to  the  windy.  Look !  D'ye  see  that 
break  in  the  stone  wall  around  Mr.  Gilman's  garden- 
patch?  The  storm  washed  out  the  dirt  foundation 
this  morning.  He  was  over  here  before  eight  o'clock 
askin'  for  me  wife's  brother, —  just  over  from  Ireland, 
—  at  present  an  odd- job  man,  being  " —  (this  he  inter- 
polated behind  his  hand)  — "  too  short  a  while  in  the 
country  to  get  a  place  on  the  force, —  to  see  if  he  could 
hire  him  to  help  in  the  patchin'  up  av  the  wall.  Thfe 
work's  too  heavy  for  the  old  gentleman  himself,  or  he'd 
be  at  it  this  minute.  Bedad,  he's  up  there  now  mix- 
ing the  mortar, —  and  him  worth  a  million  or  more. 
If  ye  think  — " 

Sherry  sprang  to  his  feet.     "  I'll  tackle  him  at  once." 

"  Don't  be  too  much  in  the  sun,"  cautioned  Mrs. 
Doyle,  as  their  visitor  ran  down  the  front  steps. 

"  He  will  pay  two  dollars  a  day,"  advised  Barney. 
"  Me  wife's  brother  went  to  work  for  the  gas  company 
yesterday  or  he'd  be  — " 

"  Mind  you  come  back  here  for  your  dinner,  Mr. 
Redpath,"  called  out  the  wife.  "  We  have  it  at  half- 
past  twelve." 

Mr.  Gilman  was  not  favourably  impressed  with  the 
applicant.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  suspicious, —  and 
quite  naturally  so.  This  fellow  had  none  of  the  ear- 


92  SHERRY 

marks  of  a  day-labourer  and  many  of  those  that  iden- 
tify the  confidence  man  —  such  as  clean  linen,  well-kept 
hands,  a  platinum  watch-chain  and  silk  socks, —  to  say 
nothing  of  a  stout,  formidable  looking  cudgel  fashioned 
ostensibly  for  walking  purposes  but  no  doubt  intended 
for  the  more  sinister  business  of  suppressing  pedestrian- 
ism  in  other  people. 

It  was  not  until  Officer  Doyle  walked  over  and  put  in 
a  word  for  the  young  man  that  old  Mr.  Gilman, — 
who  was  on  the  point  of  sending  for  Barney  anyhow, 
—  consented  to  give  Sherry  a  trial. 

"  Understand,  young  man,"  he  said  testily,  "  I'm 
only  taking  you  on  trial.  This  is  no  soft  snap.  Have 
you  a  pair  of  overalls?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Sherry.     "  I  never  thought  of  that." 

"  Well,  you'll  find  something  of  the  sort  in  the  car- 
riage house.  I  knew  your  father.  I  also  know  a  whole 
lot  about  you,  and  it  isn't  good.  You  don't  get  your 
pay  until  the  job  is  finished.  I'm  not  going  to  have 
you  sailing  off  tonight  and  getting  drunk  and  leaving 
me  in  the  lurch  tomorrow.  Understand  that,  young 
man?" 

"  I  don't  drink,  Mr.  Gilman,"  said  he  good-humour- 
edly. 

"  You  don't  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Gilman,  blinking  his 
eyes. 

"  Not  a  drop,  sir.     Ask  Barney." 

"  Not  a  drop,  sir,"  repeated  Barney  Doyle,  without 
being  asked. 

"  Then  all  these  stories  I've  heard  about  Bob  Red- 
path's  son  going  to  the  devil  are  — "  Mr.  Gilman  hes- 
itated. 


SHERRY  93 

"  Damn  lies,"  said  Officer  Doyle.  "  He's  simply 
goin'  to  work,  sir." 

"  For  my  bread  and  butter,"  added  Sherry,  truth- 
fully. "  Nothing  altruistic  about  it  at  all,  Mr.  Oil- 
man." 

"  Not  a  bit  av  it,"  vouchsafed  Barney  Doyle,  un- 
staggered. 

All  the  rest  of  that  broiling  day  the  young  man  la- 
boured cheerfully,  lifting  and  setting  the  heavy  boul- 
ders in  the  mortar  laid  down  by  his  indefatigable  em- 
ployer. When  the  time  came  to  knock  off  for  the  day 
he  was  so  tired  he  could  hardly  straighten  his  broad 
back.  His  arms  and  shoulders  ached  and  his  hands 
were  so  sore  that  he  winced  when  he  tried  to  close  them ; 
they  were  sadly  scratched  and  bleeding. 

Contrary  to  his  announcement,  Mr.  Gilman  paid  him 
for  the  day's  work.  Although  he  had  worked  but  lit- 
tle more  than  half  the  day,  the  old  gentleman  gave  him 
a  crisp  two-dollar  bill. 

"  I  can't  change  it,  Mr.  Gilman,"  said  Sherry, 
flushing. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  his  employer.  "  We'll  call  it 
an  honest  day's  work.  The  first  you've  ever  done,  I 
take  it." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  young  man  frankly,  "  the 
very  first.  And  I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  I'll  be 
here  at  eight  in  the  morning." 

He  slept  in  Compton's  Woods  that  night,  and  the 
next,  so  dog-tired  that  he  missed  the  usual  serenade  ef 
the  frogs  and  katydids.  He  had  his  meals  at  Barney 
Doyle's,  insisting  on  paying  for  them  in  advance,  much 
to  the  disgust  of  Barney's  wife,  in  whose  warm  Celtic 


94*  SHERRY 

heart  lingered  the  thrill  that  his  bouquet  of  roses  had 
produced.  She  would  take  no  more  than  a  quarter  for 
each  meal.  He  did  not  make  the  mistake  of  bringing 
roses  to  her  on  the  succeeding  mornings;  nothing  so 
banal  as  that  entered  his  head ;  she  was  not  to  feel  that 
the  delicate  attention  could  be  made  cheap  by  repeti- 
tion. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  third  day  the  last  stones 
were  being  set  in  place;  the  repairs  to  the  wall  neared 
completion,  and  he  would  soon  be  out  of  a  job.  In 
some  pride  he  stood  off  with  old  Mr.  Gilman  and  sur- 
veyed the  reconstructed  wall.  There  still  remained 
the  task  of  filling  in  with  dirt  and  gravel  the  gap  be- 
hind the  wall.  That  would  require  shovelling  from  the 
big  pile  of  earth  that  had  been  dumped  at  the  edge  of 
the  hole  earlier  in  the  day  by  a  teamster,  and  a  certain 
amount  of  tamping. 

"  Pretty  good  job,  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Gilman, 
eyeing  the  work  critically  and  not  without  pride. 

"  Ripping,"  said  Sherry,  wiping  his  brow  with  his 
bare  forearm.  "  The  Egyptians  couldn't  have  done 
better." 

The  old  gentleman  looked  at  his  watch.  "  It  is  now 
half-past  three.  I  don't  believe  you  can  move  all  that 
dirt  by  five  o'clock.  Could  you  finish  the  job  by 
seven  ?  " 

"  I  could,"  said  Sherry  promptly.  "  Don't  you 
worry  about  it,  Mr.  Gilman.  You're  tired.  Go  up  to 
the  house,  sir,  and  leave  all  this  to  me.  I  don't  belong 
to  a  union.  I  have  no  regular  hours." 

Right  cheerfully  he  shovelled  and  as  cheerfully  he 
tamped.  Automobiles  passed  by  in  Hooper  Street,  un- 


SHERRY  95 

seen  and  unheard  by  the  one-time  owner  of  high-speed 
runabouts  and  racers.  He  had  no  time  to  think  of  au- 
tomobiles —  but,  yes,  he  did  think  occasionally  of  a 
big  touring  car  with  a  hatless  girl  at  the  wheel. 

Indeed  he  was  thinking  of  that  very  combination 
when  the  violent  shrieking  of  a  Klaxon  horn  caused 
him  to  whirl  suddenly  as  if  to  leap  out  of  danger,  so 
close  at  hand  was  the  machine.  Not  thirty  ^eet  away, 
standing  perfectly  still  in  the  street,  was  a  big  green 
touring  car.  The  girl  at  the  wheel  was  not  hatless 
now,  nor  was  she  alone.  A  little  old  lady  in  black  sat 
beside  her,  speechless  but  eloquent, 

"  Come  here !  "  called  the  young  lady  peremptorially. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  visibly  annoyed. 

"  I  can't,"  said  the  young  man,  grinning  with  de- 
light. "  My  boss  is  watching."  Nevertheless,  he 
hopped  over  the  wall  and  did  as  she  commanded. 

"  You  went  away  without  waiting  for  your  pay," 
said  Miss  O'Brien  severely,  when  he  stood  before 
her. 

"  I  went  away?  "  with  emphasis  on  the  pronoun. 

"  Morna,  is  this  the  young  man  who  — " 

"  T-his,  Grandma,  is  the  wild  gentleman  of  the  woods. 
I  owe  him  fifty  cents  —  or  is  it  seventy-five  ?  " 

Mrs.  Compton's  sharp  little  face  lighted  up.  "  And 
I  owe  him  a  great  deal  more  than  that,"  she  said. 
"  You  transformed  a  vile,  stubborn,  unreasonable 
hussy  into  a  meek  and  sensible  darling,  sir,  and  sent 
her  home  — " 

"  Now,  Granny,  we'll  quarrel  again  if  you  are  not 
careful.  And  the  next  time  I  won't  blubber  and  run 
home  as  I  did  the  last  time." 


96  SHERRY 

Mrs.  Compton  was  appraising  the  young  man  with 
her  shrewd  grey  eyes.  "  So  you  are  the  much-talked 
of  Sheridan  Redpath.  If  I  were  a  bright,  precocious 
child  I  might  be  excused  for  saying  that  you  don't 
look  at  all  like  an  example.  You  — " 

"  We  are  keeping  Mr.  Redpath  from  his  work, 
Granny,"  broke  in  Miss  O'Brien  curtly. 

For  three  days  she  had  been  displeased  with  herself 
for  having  forgotten  to  pay  the  labourer  his  hire,  and 
at  the  same  time  irritated  with  him  for  not  presenting 
himself  with  a  demand  for  the  money.  His  aloofness 
indicated  something  more  than  resignation  on  his  part : 
it  savoured  unpleasantly  of  disdain  —  and  by  no  proc- 
ess of  argumentation  could  she  convince  herself  that 
it  was  the  money  he  disdained.  She  was  humiliated. 
She  did  not  like  being  humiliated. 

"  You  may  keep  the  change."  With  a  loftiness  that 
should  have  shrivelled  him,  she  thrust  a  silver  dollar 
into  his  hand, —  or,  strictly  speaking,  at  his  hand,  for 
it  was  not  extended. 

But  he  did  not  shrivel.  Instead,  he  expanded. 
"  Thanks.  I  think  I  can  make  change  today.  Fifty 
cents,  Miss  O'Brien.  Here's  your  — " 

"  Keep  it,"  she  said,  compressing  her  lips.  "  Don't 
you  always  expect  a  tip?  " 

He  was  not  offended.  "  Tip  ?  And  what  is  a  tip, 
if  I  may  ask?  " 

She  bit  her  lip.  "  It  happens  to  be  fifty  cents  in  this 
instance.  Oh,  take  it,"  she  cried  in  exasperation. 

For  answer  he  placed  his  own  half-dollar  carefully 
on  the  spare  tire,  and  addressed  himself  to  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton, affecting  grave  solicitude.  "  I  trust  Miss  O'Brien 


SHERRY  97 

is  a  careful  driver.  Otherwise  it  may  be  jostled  off 
and  lost  for  ever." 

Mrs.  Compton  permitted  a  faint  smile  to  steal  into 
her  eyes.  "  Offering  a  tip  to  you,  Mr.  Redpath,  is 
like  carrying  coals  to  Newcastle,  I  should  say.  You, 
I  am  told,  are  the  source  from  which  more  blessings 
in  the  shape  of  tips  have  sprung  than  — " 

"  Granny,  dear,"  interrupted  Miss  O'Brien  firmly, 
"  we  did  not  stop  to  pay  compliments  but  to  pay  wages. 
Good  day,  Mr.  Redpath.  I  am  sorry  to  have  been  so 
long  in  paying  you  —  in  paying  — " 

"  I'll  crank  it,  Miss  O'Brien,"  said  he,  obligingly. 
"  This  year's  models  have  a  self-starting  contraption 
that  —  Don't  get  out !  I'll  do  it." 

He  had  cranked  a  great  many  cars  in  his  day,  but 
never  had  he  encountered  one  so  unresponsive  as  this 
one.  He  jerked  and  pulled  and  hauled  until  he 
thought  his  neck  would  burst. 

"  Let  me  do  it,"  said  a  calm  voice  at  his  side.  He 
turned,  red-faced  and  exasperated,  to  look  into  her 
tantalizing  blue  eyes.  She  actually  elbowed  him  aside, 
and  gripped  the  crank  with  her  little  gauntleted  hand. 
A  quick  jerk  or  two  and  —  the  engine  was  throbbing! 

"  Simple  twist  of  the  wrist,"  she  said  sweetly,  and 
went  back  to  the  wheel. 

"  I  see,"  said  he,  jumping  to  one  side  to  avoid  being 
run  down.  "  It's  a  trained  car.  Performs  only  for 
its  tamer." 

"  Thank  you  just  the  same,  and  —  good-bye." 

The  car  leaped  forward  so  suddenly  that  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton clutched  her  bonnet  and  suspended  utterance. 
She  too  had  started  to  say  "  good-bye." 


98  SHERRY 

He  went  back  to  his  shovelling,  and  did  not  whistle 
his  merry  tune.  A  perplexed  frown  appeared  on  his 
brow.  From  time  to  time  he  shook  his  head  and  sighed. 
He  couldn't,  for  the  life  of  him,  solve  the  problem. 
She  was  inexplicable. 

"  Treated  me  like  a  dog,"  he  mused.  "  Quit  your 
dreaming,  old  boy.  You're  awake  now.  She  hasn't 
any  more  use  for  you  than  — "  A  tender  light  came 
into  his  eyes  and  he  rested  on  his  shovel  to  look  up  the 
street  in  the  wake  of  the  vanished  car.  "  But  you've 
got  the  gentlest,  softest,  prettiest  name  in  the  world, 
I'll  say  that  for  you,"  he  pronounced,  by  way  of  con- 
trast. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  SURPRISING  thing  happened  when  he  re- 
ported to  Mr.  Gilman  a  few  minutes  before 
seven  o'clock.  He  was  invited  to  supper. 

"  I'd  like  to  have  a  good,  sound  talk  with  you,  young 
man,"  said  his  late  employer.  Noting  the  younger 
man's  change  of  expression,  subtle  though  it  was,  he 
added,  with  a  sly  twinkle  in  his  eye :  "  I  promise  not 
to  lecture  or  advise  you,  or  anything  like  that,  so  you 
need  not  be  alarmed.  Mrs.  Gilman  hasn't  been  down- 
stairs to  a  meal  in  seven  years.  I  like  a  bit  of  com- 
panionship once  in  a  while,  my  lad,  and  somehow,  of 
late,  I've  taken  a  fancy  for  the  company  of  the  young 
and  strong.  I  hope  you'll  stay.  It  is  barely  possible 
that  I  may  not  bore  you,  even  though  two  whole  gen- 
erations separate  us." 

"  I'll  be  happy  to  stay,  sir,  if  you'll  allow  me  the 
time  to  run  over  and  tell  Mrs.  Doyle  not  to  expect  me." 

"  That's  one  thing  I  admire  in  you,"  said  the  older 
man.  **  Your  consideration  for  others.  Supper  will 
be  ready  at  half-past  seven.  Bring  your  appetite." 

"  No  fear.     My  appetite  will  bring  me." 

After  supper  the  two  men, —  one  old  and  gaunt  and 
crusty,  the  other  young  and  vibrant, —  sat  on  the 
broad  veranda  and  smoked.  Redpath,  still  a  little 
dazed  and  bewildered  by  the  unexpected  affability  of 
his  host,  was  further  surprised  by  the  excellence  of  the 

eigar  he  held  in  his  fingers.     All  his  life  he  had  heard 

99 


100  SHERRY 

Mr.  Gilman  spoken  of  as  a  skinflint  and  miser.  He 
was  looked  upon  as  the  stingiest  man  in  town, —  and 
nothing  worse  than  that  could  be  said  of  any  individ- 
ual, for  Farragut,  according  to  Sherry's  estimate,  was 
full  of  stingy  people.  And  here  he  was  now,  smoking 
his  second  thirty-cent  Corona-Corona,  taken  from  a 
box  that  was  passed  to  him  without  the  slightest  indi- 
cation of  reserve  or  reluctance.  Their  supper  had 
been  excellent.  At  the  home  of  any  one  of  the  social 
leaders  in  town  it  would  have  been  regarded  as  a 
"  bang-up  "  dinner.  Mr.  Gilman,  however,  apologized 
for  it.  He  lived  very  simply,  he  said. 

During  their  association  as  wall-builders,  Sherry  had 
found  the  old  man  silent  and  unapproachable.  He  sel- 
dom spoke.  When  he  did  it  was  to.  give  a  terse  order, 
or,  on  occasion,  to  express  criticism.  His  helper  soon 
came  to  regard  him  as  a  sour,  grumpy  old  party,  and 
abandoned  all  efforts  to  be  agreeable.  The  invitation 
to  supper  came  as  a  distinct  surprise,  and  but  for  the 
strange  wistfulness  in  the  old  man's  eyes  would  have 
been  declined.  As  it  was,  he  accepted  because  he  had 
no  ready  excuse  for  declining,  and  now  he  was  glad 
that  he  had  done  so. 

Andrew  Gilman, —  he  was  known  over  town  as  Andy 
Gee, —  exposed  an  amazing  side  to  his  character,  hith- 
erto unsuspected  by  the  young  man.  He  was  chatty, 
agreeable,  and  at  times  witty.  Before  Sherry  had  been 
in  the  house  ten  minutes  he  found  himself  absurdly  free 
from  the  constraint  so  natural  in  the  young  and  well- 
bred  when  in  the  presence  of  their  seniors.  Convinced 
at  the  outset  that  he  would  be  bored  and  uncomfortable 
and  eager  for  the  hour  of  departure  to  come,  he  had 


SHERRY  101 

entered  the  house  with  misgivings,  and,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, prepared  for  unpleasant  though  no  doubt  well- 
meant  references  to  his  own  past  and  future. 

But  Mr.  Gilman  talked  of  himself  and  not  of  his 
guest.  More  than  that,  he  talked  unreservedly  and 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  sharp  little  eyes.  The  truths  he 
uttered  had  to  do  with  the  successful  career  of  Andrew 
Gilman  and  not  the  unsuccessful  career  of  Sheridan 
Redpath. 

With  the  rest  of  the  population  of  Farragut,  young 
Redpath  had  looked  upon  Andy  Gee  as  a  soulless, 
hard-fisted  money-grabber  in  whom  neither  charity  nor 
humour  had  an  abiding  place.  As  a  small  boy  he  had 
stood  in  actual  awe  of  the  old  man.  In  common  with 
his  kind  and  generation,  he  had  made  faces  at  the  miser 
from  behind  fences  and  other  redoubts ;  he  had  hurled 
derisive  but  humorous  shouts  after  him  as  he  passed 
along  the  street,  and  had  scooted  for  dear  life  when 
the  object  of  scorn  turned  a  mephitic  eye  upon  him. 

And  here  he  was  now,  sitting  in  the  ogre's  house,  en- 
joying himself!  That  he  should  be  there  laughing  at 
the  quaint  remarks  of  Andrew  Gilman  was  almost  be- 
yond comprehension.  Why,  the  man  was  no  ogre  at 
all!  He  was  a  kindly,  unctious  old  chap  that  you 
couldn't  help  liking. 

Sherry  knew  little  about  books,  saving  the  lightest 
sort  of  fiction, —  (you  might  say  daily  fiction), —  but 
he  was  not  so  ignorant  that  he  failed  to  grasp  the  sig- 
nificance and  importance  of  the  library  in  which  he 
had  his  coffee  with  Mr.  Gilman.  There  were  thousands 
of  volumes  in  the  great  cases  that  lined  the  room  from 
floor  to  ceiling,  and  it  was  not  necessary  for  him  to  be 


102  SHERRY 

told  that  his  host  admitted  no  light  fiction  to  those  ex- 
alted shelves.  There  were  etchings  and  engravings  in 
the  hall  and  living-room;  an  atmosphere  of  quiet  ele- 
gance, of  rare  good  taste,  pervaded  the  house.  He 
found  himself  wondering  what  sort  of  woman  Mrs.  Gil- 
man  must  have  been  in  her  day  to  have  wrung  all  this 
splendour  out  of  the  soul  of  a  miser.  Later  on  he  was 
to  know  that  the  old  man  himself  was  responsible  for 
everything. 

"  Few  people,  aside  from  the  tax  collectors,  know 
that  this  library  exists,"  said  Mr.  Gilman,  as  they  left 
the  room  to  seek  the  coolness  of  the  porch.  "  We 
rarely  have  visitors  here.  The  doctor  sits  with  me  here 
once  in  a  while,  and  occasionally  the  minister  comes  up 
to  see  me, — although  I  am  beginning  to  fear  that  he  no 
longer  considers  it  worth  his  while.  I  give  a  certain 
amount  to  the  church  each  year,  and  so  much  extra 
for  home  missions.  The  fund  for  the  construction  of 
the  proposed  new  church  lacks  my  contribution.  The 
old  church  is  quite  good  enough  for  me.  It  is  large 
enough  for  its  congregation  and  it  still  resembles  a 
place  of  worship,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  for 
some  of  them.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  our  visitors  are 
few  and  their  visits  far  between.  I  suppose  you  are 
aware  of  the  fact,  young  man,  that  I  am  a  very  cor- 
dially despised  person.  Have  you  ever  heard  a  good 
word  said  for  me?  "  He  put  the  question  with  a  smile. 
There  was  no  bitterness  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Sherry ;  "  I've  heard  it  said  that 
you  are  a  splendid  judge  of  real  estate."  He  spoke 
lightly  and  without  fear,  and  the  old  gentleman 
chuckled,^ — just  as  he  was  expected  to  do. 


"  Well,  that's  something,"  he  said,  drily. 

"  And  you  are  good  pay,"  added  Sherry. 

The  old  man  stared  out  over  the  shrubbery  on  the 
lawn.  An  electric  lamp,  suspended  in  the  street 
below,  seemed  to  afford  attraction  for  his  gaze.  Pres- 
ently he  spoke. 

"  I  can  count  on  one  hand  all  the  friends  I  have  in 
this  city,  Redpath.  A  few  years  ago  it  would  have  been 
necessary  to  employ  the  digits  of  both  hands,  but  even 
good  friends  can't  go  on  living  for  ever,  you  know. 
You  may  think  that  I  am  a  lonely  as  well  as  a  despised 
old  man.  I  am  seldom  lonely,  for  I  am  always  busy. 
A  busy  man  is  never  lonely,  remember  that  always,  my 
young  friend.  Five  years  ago  I  retired  from  active 
business,  but  that  does  not  mean  that  I  retired  from 
active  life.  I  want  to  live  to  be  a  very  old  man.  That 
may  be  accomplished  only  by  keeping  mind  and  body 
active.  Don't  give  the  mind  a  chance  to  grow  dull  with 
introspection,  and  don't  let  the  body  go  to  seed.  I 
lost  my  only  son  a  good  many  years  ago.  He  never 
could  see  any  sense  in  my  getting  down  to  business  at 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  usually  ahead  of  any  of 
my  employes.  I  always  walked  to  and  from  the  store. 
People  said  I  was  stingy.  I  claim  that  I  was  merely 
sensible.  Nowadays  I  ride  about  in  an  automobile, 
and  I  drive  my  own  span  of  thoroughbreds.  I  do  the 
one  because  I  must  keep  up  with  the  procession,  the 
other  because  I  can  afford  to  stay  behind  it  and  enjoy 
myself  if  I  prefer." 

"  That's  the  right  way  to  live,"  said  Sherry.  "  I 
guess  I  kept  pretty  well  ahead  of  the  procession,"  he 
added  ruefully.  "  I  too,  sir,  have  retired  from  active 


104  SHERRY 

business.  My  business  was  to  get  rid  of  money,  while 
yours  was  to  acquire  it.  That's  just  the  difference 
between  us,  Mr.  Gilman." 

"  You  are  mistaken.  The  difference  between  us  is, 
I  should  say,  a  matter  of  fifty  years.  With  me  it  is 
what  I  have  done,  with  you  it  is  what  you  are  still  to 
do.  I  am  through.  You  are  just  beginning.  When 
I  was  twenty-five  I  did  not  have  more  than  ten  dollars 
to  my  name.  How  old  are  you?  Twenty-seven? 
And  you  have  six  dollars  in  your  pocket, — " 

"  Four  and  a  quarter,"  corrected  Sherry.  "  I  paid 
my  board  bill  at  Barney's." 

"  Well,  you  have  the  youth  and  the  stamina  that  I 
once  enjoyed  and  you  know  more  about  money  than 
I've  known  in  all  my  years.  I  should  say  that  you 
have  a  decided  advantage  over  me  as  I  was  at  twenty- 
seven.  You  are  not  lazy.  A  lazy  man  couldn't  have 
gone  through  with  all  the  money  you  possessed  in  so 
short  a  time  without  working  pretty  hard  to  do  it. 
But  I  promised  not  to  talk  of  your  affairs, —  at  least, 
not  of  the  past.  I  should  like,  however,  to  discuss 
the  future  with  you.  What  are  your  plans,  my  lad?  " 

"  I  have  no  definite  plan,  Mr.  Gilman,"  said  Sherry. 
"  I  shall  work  until  something  better  turns  up,"  he 
added  quaintly. 

"  Have  you  —  er  —  a  position  in  prospect?  " 

"  No,  sir.  I  like  the  idea  of  earning  money,  how- 
ever. Next  month  I  shall  look  for  a  permanent  job." 

"Next  month?  Do  you  expect  to  subsist  for  a 
month  on  the  four  dollars  and  a  quarter?  " 

"  I  shall  do  odd  jobs  for  the  next  couple  of  weeks,'* 
said  the  young  man,  serious  despite  his  words.  "  I 


SHERRY  105 

have  thought  the  whole  thing  out,  sir.  The  three  days 
I  spent  with  you  on  that  wall  convinced  me  that  I  am 
not  yet  in  a  condition  to  settle  down  to  steady  employ- 
ment. Young  as  I  am  and  strong,  I  don't  mind  con- 
fessing to  you  that  there  were  times  when  I  thought 
I'd  keel  over  from  weakness.  The  only  thing  that  kept 
me  going  was  your  example.  I  couldn't  give  up  as 
long  as  you  were  going  strong,  you  see.  So  I  stuck 
it  out.  I  need  a  few  weeks  of  hard  work  in  the  open  air 
to  put  me  in  any  sort  of  form.  If  I  can  earn  no  more 
than  my  daily  bread,  I'll  be  doing  myself  a  good  turn. 
You  see,  sir,  I  have  lived  a  rather  abnormal  life.  I 
owe  it  to  my  regular  employer, —  if  I  get  one, —  to  be 
normal  in  every  particular.  So  I  intend  to  split  rails 
or  break  stones  or  —  well,  you  see  what  I  mean,  don't 
you?" 

Mr.  Gilinan,  watching  him  through  half-closed  eyes, 
nodded  his  head  slowly.  "  Replenish  the  fires,  eh?  I 
see.  It  seems  a  pity  that  so  fine  a  specimen  of  young 
manhood  as  you  appear  to  be  should  have  abused  — 
ah,  well,  we'll  say  no  more  about  it."  He  was  thought- 
ful for  a  few  moments.  Redpath's  meditations  ap- 
peared to  be  centred  in  the  coils  of  smoke  he  was  blow- 
ing into  the  soft,  still  air.  The  old  man  cleared  his 
throat.  "  We've  had  a  very  agreeable  evening  — 
don't  get  up,  please.  I  don't  mean  that  it  is  over  and 
time  for  you  to  leave,  my  boy.  What  I  meant  to  con- 
vey is  that  we  have  been  rather  good  company  for  each 
other.  You  haven't  found  me  as  terrifying  or  as  ugly 
as  you  thought.  In  fact,  you  are  disappointed  in  me. 
Permit  me  to  observe  that  I  have  been  studying  you  for 
a  couple  of  days.  You  are  not  bad,  you  are  not  even 


106  SHERRY 

half-bad,  despite  your  evil  reputation.  Your  eye  is 
clear  and  straight,  and  your  right  hand  appears  to 
know  what  the  left  is  doing.  This  brings  me  to  the 
point.  How  would  you  like  to  enter  my  employ?  " 

Sherry  started.  "  Are  you  in  earnest,  Mr.  Gil- 
man?" 

"  Certainly.     I  rarely  jest." 

"  But  I  understood  you  to  say  you  have  retired 
from  active  business,  sir." 

"  Quite  so.  I  sold  out  my  business  five  years  ago. 
The  wholesale  grocery  concern  of  Andrew  Gilman  & 
Co.  exists  only  on  the  letter-heads  of  the  house;  there 
is  no  Andrew  Gilman  in  the  business.  I  not  only  sold 
out  the  stock  and  good  will,  but  my  name  as  well. 
That,  I  submit  without  conceit,  is  an  asset,  no  matter 
how  bitterly  hated  I  may  have  been." 

"  You  have  taken  me  by  surprise,  sir.  I  —  I  don't 
know  just  what  to  say." 

"  Well,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I'd  ask  what  sort  of 
employment  is  intended, —  whether  it  is  nefarious  or 
honourable,  in  fact, —  and  I'd  discuss  the  question  of 
hours,  wages  and  the  prospects  of  advancement,"  sug- 
gested Andy  Gee,  smiling. 

"  The  prospect  of  advancement  is  the  only  thing  I 
should  care  to  discuss  at  present.  Hours  and  wages 
are  adjustable,  you  might  say.  I  don't  want  to  take 
steady  employment  unless  I  see  a  chance  to  go  ahead. 
What  would  be  required  of  me,  Mr.  Gilman?  " 

The  old  gentleman  hesitated.  When  he  spoke  it  was 
in  lowered  tones. 

"  Ostensibly  you  would  be  my  secretary  and  agent. 
You  would  collect  the  rents  from  my  tenants,  and  — 


SHERRY  107 

/ 

Well,  there  is  a  good  deal  more  that  I  could  find  for 
you  to  do.  You  — " 

"  But,  I  have  had  no  experience,  sir.  How  could 
you  entrust  important  matters  to  — " 

"  You  profess  to  be  honest,  don't  you?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  No  one  has  ever  intimated  that  you  are  crooked ; 
your  worst  enemy  would  call  you  no  more  than  a  fool." 

"  My  best  friends  call  me  that,  sir." 

"  And  with  reason,"  said  Andy  Gee.  "  On  the  other 
hand,  no  one  has  ever  called  me  a  fool.  They  have 
called  me  a  great  many  other  things,  but  they  have 
spared  me  that.  I  would  be  a  fool,  however,  to  employ 
you  in  any  capacity, —  save  as  a  day  labourer, —  if  I 
were  not  thoroughly  satisfied  that  you  are  the  man  for 
the  place.  You  are  honest,  sober, —  I  believe  you  will 
remain  so,  too, —  dead  broke,  and  you  have  seen  better 
—  or  worse  days,  take  them  as  you  will.  Above  all 
other  recommendations,  you  are  strong  of  body  and 
quick  of  mind.  I  require  the  services  of  a  brave,  lusty 
young  fellow,  who  could  have  no  other  object  than  to 
be  loyal  to  my  interests." 

"  Meaning,"  said  Sherry  boldly,  "  that  the  collecting 
of  rents  is  a  job  for  the  strong  and  courageous." 

"  Not  necessarily,"  said  Andy  Gee,  frowning.  "  I 
collect  them  with  reasonable  thoroughness." 

"  So  I  have  heard."  There  was  a  hard  light  in  the 
young  man's  eyes. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  the  other  quietly. 

"  I  have  also  heard,  Mr.  Gilman,  that  certain  of 
your  tenants  in  the  lower  part  of  town  have  threatened 
your  life.  You  have  had  several  men  put  under  bond 


108  SHERRY 

to  keep  the  peace,  if  I  remember  correctly.  I  suppose 
it  would  be  my  duty  to  collect  the  rents  down  there; 
and  if  they  didn't  pay  promptly  to  use  my  highly 
spoken-of  strength  to  throw  them  out  in  the  street." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  shall  continue  to  collect  the  rents  of 
those  people  in  person.  They  are  afraid  of  me,  old  as 
I  am,  and  they  would  never  be  afraid  of  you  as  a  rent 
collector." 

"  Is  it  true  that  last  January  you  evicted  a  family 
in  Endsley  Street,  and  that  the  wife  and  little  daugh- 
ter froze  to  death  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Gilman.  "  You  have  the  right  to 
ask  the  question,  however,  and  I  am  not  offended. 
Jim  Moore  was  not  evicted.  He  claims  that  he  was, 
but  only  to  save  his  own  face.  The  truth  about  that 
case  is  this :  he  had  been  drinking  hard  and  as  he  is  a 
brute  when  sober  you  may  well  imagine  what  he  is  when 
intoxicated.  He  threw  his  wife  and  children  into  the 
street,  hurled  the  furniture  into  the  alley,  and  —  well, 
I  was  blamed  for  all  of  that,  my  boy.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  his  wife  had  paid  the  rent.  She  took  in  washing. 
He  resented  her  paying  me  when  he  had  other  uses  for 
the  money  she  had  earned.  She  did  freeze  to  death, 
and  the  little  girl  too.  He  declared  that  I  had  put 
them  out  of  the  house.  People  said  some  unkind  things 
about  me,  you  may  remember.  I  own  twenty-two  small 
houses  in  that  part  of  town.  Not  one  of  my  tenants 
has  a  good  word  to  say  for  me.  They  hate  me  because 
I  am  their  landlord.  Some  of  them  have  threatened 
my  life.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  explain  why 
these  able-bodied  men  should  not  pay  their  rent? 
They  all  have  jobs,  and  are  well-paid  as  things  go. 


SHERRY  109 

Most  of  them  work  in  the  railroad  yards  and  round- 
house. In  the  past  year  ten  families  have  moved  out  of 
my  cottages  down  there,  and  all  of  them  have  said  they 
were  evicted.  They  are  now  living  in  other  houses  and 
they  will  move  out  of  them,  just  as  they  did  out  of 
mine,  and  they  will  never  have  paid  a  cent  of  rent  dur- 
ing their  occupancy.  I  did  not  put  them  out.  They 
went  of  their  own  accord,  owing  me  the  rent  from  the 
day  they  moved  in.  They  belong  to  the  class  that 
never  pays.  And  yet,  the  whole  lower  end  of  town 
heaped  maledictions  upon  me  when  these  people  moved 
their  pitiable  belongings  out  of  my  houses  and  sought 
other  landlords.  The  neighbours  said :  '  Old  Andy 
Gee  is  at  it  again,  curse  him  for  a  dog.'  You  must  not 
be  deceived  into  the  belief  that  these  vagabonds  are  the 
ones  who  threaten  my  life,  nor  that  anything  serious 
will  result  from  the  blusterings  of  drunken  Jim  Moore. 
They  will  not  harm  me.  It  is  not  a  part  of  their 
scheme  of  existence.  But  there  are  others,  my  boy, — 
and  they  are  to  be  feared." 

"  You  mean,  sir,  that  you  actually  fear  that  some 
one  will  try  to  —  get  you  ?  "  He  leaned  forward  in  his 
chair  and  peered  through  the  darkness  at  the  face  of 
his  companion.  A  deep,  solemn  note  in  the  older  man's 
voice  sent  a  sort  of  chill  through  his  veins.  He 
suddenly  regretted  the  harshness  of  an  earlier  re- 
mark. 

"  I  cannot  discuss  the  matter  until  I  know  that  you 
are  willing  to  accept  the  position  I  am  prepared  to  of- 
fer." 

"  And  I  am  not  willing  to  accept  until  I  know  what 
is  in  the  wind,  sir." 


110  SHERRY 

"  I  will  be  quite  frank  with  you.  I  want  you  to  act, 
after  a  fashion,  as  a  personal  body-guard." 

"Body-guard?"  gasped  Sherry,  startled. 

"  After  a  fashion,  I  remarked.  Ostensibly  as  my 
secretary.  Don't  misunderstand  me.  You  will  have 
secretarial  duties  that  will  keep  you  fairly  busy.  I 
am  too  old  to  attend  to  all  of  the  private  business  that 
accumulates  from  day  to  day.  Such  of  it  as  I  care 
to  trust  to  the  hands  of  another  you  would  be  required 
to  look  after, —  and  no  more.  My  lawyers  are  quite 
capable,  I  believe,  of  handling  the  more  important  mat- 
ters." He  was  now  speaking  in  a  slightly  satirical 
manner.  "  I  may  add  that  I  feel  myself  still  capable 
of  handling  my  lawyers.  You  suggested  a  while  ago 
that  you  would  take  no  regular  employment  that  did 
not  offer  an  opportunity  for  advancement.  Well,  I 
cannot  promise  you  that.  I  can  only  say  that  your 
salary  will  be  a  liberal  one  to  begin  with,  and  that 
I  shall  increase  it  as  your  value  expands." 

"  Well,  I'm  still  considerably  in  the  dark,  Mr.  Gil- 
man." 

"  I  want  simply  to  engage  your  strength,  your 
youth,  your  loyalty,  and  not  especially  your  ambition. 
I  want  to  have  near  me  all  the  time  a  young  man  who 
can't  be  bought.  Do  you  understand?  Who  can't  be 
bought.  You  are  unique  in  your  way,  my  lad.  Money 
does  not  mean  as  much  to  you  as  it  does  to  the  average 
man.  You  have  had  it,  and  you  have  thrown  it  away. 
You  are  starting  out  to  acquire  fortune  and  honour, 
after  having  had  both  of  them  in  your  brief  career. 
Your  money  is  gone,  your  honour  remains.  You  have 
no  greed  in  your  soul.  You  have  enjoyed  affluence, 


SHERRY  111 

and,  having  done  so,  are  singularly  well  fortified  against 
the  evils  that  often  inspire  him  who  yearns  for  it  and 
the  power  it  gives.  I  could  hire  a  robust,  husky  truck- 
driver  who  would  serve  admirably  as  a  so-called  body- 
guard, but  he  would  never  be  more  than  that,  and  he 
would  afford  me  no  mental  relaxation  or  security. 
You  have  mentality,  spirit,  education  and  good-breed- 
ing. Your  companionship  will  mean  a  great  deal  to 
me.  I  am  seventy-seven  years  of  age.  My  time  may 
be  short.  I  have  thought  of  a  way  to  make  this  job 
attractive  to  you,  a  sort  of  gambling  chance.  Every 
year  for  the  first  three  years  your  salary  would  be  in- 
creased one  hundred  per  cent.  Your  first  year  it  would 
be  twenty-four  hundred  dollars.  Your  living  would 
cost  you  nothing  for  your  home  would  be  with  me. 
The  second  year  you  will  have  forty-eight  hundred  dol- 
lars, the  -third  ninety-six  hundred.  After  that  the  in- 
crease will  be  but  ten  per  cent,  annually.  Assuming 
that  I  live  ten  years  longer,  a  little  computation  will 
prove  to  you  that  you  would  be  getting  a  rather  hand- 
some salary  when  you  are  thirty-seven.  You  would 
be  drawing  a  salary  of  —  er  —  something  over  eight- 
een thousand  a  year,  besides  the  income  from  the  in- 
vestments of  previous  years.  Not  to  be  sneezed  at,  eh? 
Don't  look  so  startled.  I  am  not  insane,  nor  am  I  at 
present  afflicted  with  paresis  or  softening  of  the  brain," 
said  the  old  man,  smiling. 

"  Just  the  same,  it's  a  crazy  idea,"  cried  Sherry. 

"  Not  at  all.  I  may  die  inside  of  two  years,  or  even 
less.  I  am  not  likely  to  live  more  than  ten,  you  will 
agree." 

"  And  what  will  happen  to  me  if  you  live  ten  years 


112  SHERRY 

longer  and  your  heirs  discover  that  you  have  been  pay- 
ing me  as  high  as  eighteen  thousand  dollars  a  year  as 
secretary  and —  Why,  they'd  put  me  in  jail  for  life. 
It  couldn't  be  explained.  Undue  influence,  they'd  call 
it,  and  what  could  I  say  in  — " 

"  Quite  a  reasonable  conjecture.  That's  what  I 
like  about  you.  You  think.  You  reason.  But  all  of 
that  can  be  avoided  if  we  enter  into  a  bona-fide  con- 
tract, with  all  the  terms  set  forth.  For  example:  I, 
Andrew  Gilman,  being  of  sound  mind,  and  so  forth,  do 
hereby  agree,  and  so  forth,  to  pay  Sheridan  Redpath 
a  certain  salary,  plainly  stipulated, —  and  so  forth, — 
in  return  for  which  said  Redpath  agrees  to  perform 
certain  services  for  me.  No  one  can  go  behind  that, 
you  know.  I  have  known  you  for  three  days,  and  no 
one  can  say  that  you  have  unduly  influenced  me  in  so 
short  a  time.  Moreover,  the  proposition  is  mine,  not 
yours.  I  think  you  need  have  no  fear  of  conse- 
quences." 

"  Sign  a  contract,  eh?  That  would  mean  that  I'd 
have  to  stick  to  you  to  the  end,  whether  I  wanted  to  do 
so  or  not." 

*'  You  may  end  the  agreement  by  giving  me  a  year's 
notice.  That  would  be  fair  to  you  and  fair  to  me.  I 
should  reserve  the  same  privilege." 

"  Supposing  I  wanted  to  get  married  and  have  a 
home  of  my  own.  Such  things  happen  to  the  young 
and  strong,  you  know." 

"  Your  marriage  would  immediately  cancel  the  con- 
tract," said  Mr.  Gilman  promptly.  "  I  would  even 
prefer  to  have  you  refrain  from  falling  in  love,  but  I 
daresay  neither  you  nor  I  can  regulate  that." 


SHERRY  113 

"  I  may  be  permitted  to  fall  in  love,  eh  ? "  said 
Sherry  musingly. 

Mr.  Gilman  started.  "  You  are  not  already  in  love, 
I  hope." 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  and  sighed.  "  Not  a  bit  of 
it." 

"  Then  you  may  contrive  to  stay  out  of  it,"  sug- 
gested the  other  hopefully. 

Sherry  fingered  the  sequestered  silver  dollar  in  his 
left  hand  pocket,  and  smiled  tenderly.  "  I  think  I'd 
like  it,  however,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  you  mustn't,"  snapped  the  old  man.  "  There 
is  nothing  on  earth  so  useless,  so  valueless  as  a  young 
man  in  love.  He  isn't  worth  his  salt.  I  know,  be- 
cause I've  had  dozens  of  them  in  my  employ.  Their 
minds  were  on  a  perpetual  vacation, —  and  drawing  full 
pay  all  the  time." 

"  But  the  minds  of  the  married  men  must  have  made 
up  the  shortage.  They  never  get  a  vacation." 

"  We're  talking  nonsense  now.  Let  us  go  back  te 
the  text.  Does  my  proposition  appeal  to  you?  " 

"  It  interests  me,"  said  Sherry  coolly.  "  The  ques- 
tion of  wages  being  settled,  how  about  the  hours?  Is 
it  to  be  a  twenty-four  hour  job,  like  a  nurse's,  or  do  I 
work  in  shifts?  " 

"  Virtually  a  twenty-four  hour  j  ob,  for  you  will 
sleep  in  a  room  connected  with  my  own." 

"Any  vacations?     Physical,  I  mean." 

"  No.  Your  days  will  not  be  irksome,  however. 
You  may  have  considerable  freedom  when  it  comes  to 
the  hours  between  seven  A.  M.  and  seven  P.  M.,  except 
when  winter  shortens  the  days.  Your  nights  must  be 


SHERRY 

spent  in  this  house,  except  when  I  see  fit  to  grant  a 
brief  leave  of  absence." 

"  The  question  of  hours  appears  to  be  settled,"  said 
Sherry,  sighing  again.  "  Everything  seems  clear  now 
except  the  principal  feature  of  my  job,  if  I  take  it. 
Who  or  what  is  it  that  I  am  to  guard  you  against?  " 

"  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should  know,"  said 
the  old  man,  a  queer  hoarseness  in  his  voice.  "  The 
only  requirement  I  shall  impose  upon  you,  aside  from 
your  duties  as  my  secretary,  is  that  you  be  near  at 
hand  and  ready  at  all  hours  of  the  night.  Your  in- 
tegrity will  not  be  violated,  your  work  will  be  honest. 
More  than  that,  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  speak." 

Redpath  drew  a  deep  breath  and  was  silent  for  a 
long  time.  The  situation  was  extremely  interesting. 
His  curiosity  was  aroused.  What  did  it  all  mean? 
What  was  behind  that  grim  old  man's  proposal? 
What  was  ahead  of  him  if  he  accepted  the  place?  The 
thrill  that  goes  with  the  mysterious  and  unexplained 
crept  into  his  blood.  Why  shouldn't  he  take  the  job? 
There  certainly  was  something  dark  and  sinister  be- 
hind it  all,  else  this  sound,  intelligent  old  man  would 
not  be  seeking  a  protector, —  and  all  the  more  sinister 
would  it  appear  to  be  in  view  of  his  determination  to 
keep  the  prospective  guardian  absolutely  in  the  dark 
concerning  the  object  of  his  fears.  It  was  most  un- 
canny: guarding  a  person  against  the  unknown! 

"  Give  me  a  day  or  two  to  think  it  over,  Mr.  Gil- 
man,"  said  he  at  last,  and  there  was  a  quiver  of  excite- 
ment in  his  voice. 

"  Very  well.     Give  me  your  answer  on  Saturday.     I 


SHERRY  115 

need  not  remind  you  that  all  this  is  in  strict  confidence. 
I  trust  to  your  honour  and  discretion." 

"  Not  a  word,  sir,  to  any  one.  Before  I  can  consent 
to  take  the  place,  sir,  I  shall  have  to  ask  two  ques- 
tions which  must  be  answered." 

"  Ask  them  now,  my  boy." 

"  Is  your  life  in  peril?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  That  is  why  I  feel  the  need  of  a 
body-guard.  If  I  knew,  I  would  not  need  you." 

"  I  see.  Now  for  the  other  one.  Would  I  be  called 
upon  to  take  the  life  of  some  one  else  in  order  to  pre- 
serve yours?  " 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  No,"  said  Andy  Gee ;  "  you  wouldn't." 


CHAPTER  X 

MORNA  O'BRIEN  was  lonely. 
This  simple,  presignifying  condition,  and 
nothing  else,  was  responsible  for  her  amazing 
and  ill-considered  flight  on  a  recent  early  morning. 
There  was  no  getting  around  the  fact:  she  was  lonely 
to  the  point  of  desperation.  She  longed  for  the  broad 
companionship  of  strife,  the  blandishments  of  adven- 
ture, the  joys  of  uncertainty.  Anything  was  better 
than  the  placid,  uneventful  existence  she  led  amidst  the 
rural  comforts  of  a  home  in  which  the  days  were  all 
alike  and  the  nights  even  worse.  The  only  breaks  in 
the  monotony  of  life  as  it  moved  in  the  ancestral  abode 
of  the  Comptons  came  with  the  regular  if  somewhat 
perfunctory  Sunday  visits  of  uncles  and  aunts  and 
cousins  from  the  city.  She  did  not  know  which  she  de- 
spised the  most:  the  visits  or  the  visitors. 

Thinking  it  over,  in  solitary  depression,  she  decided 
that  it  ought  to  be  the  visitors,  since  they  alone  were 
the  cause  of  the  visits. 

Her  girl  cousins  were  snippy,  bazaar-loving  crea- 
tures, and  her  boy  cousins  were  singularly  unfunny  de- 
spite an  enterprising  determination  to  be  otherwise  at 
all  times  and  on  all  occasions.  All  of  them  wei*e  con- 
scious of  a  certain  superiority  over  Morna,  notwith- 
standing her  envied  residence  in  Paris,  a  year  in  New 
York,  and  the  knowledge  that  she  was  the  favourite  of 
a  common  grandmother.  They  could  not  permit  them- 

116 


SHERRY  117 

selves  to  overlook  the  fact  that  her  father  had  been  an 
Irish  farm-hand,  and  that  her  mother  had  married  far 
beneath  her  station.  It  rather  hurt  their  pride  to 
have  a  cousin  named  O'Brien.  They  also  were  annoyed 
by  the  occasional  trips  she  made  to  Chicago  with  her 
grandmother. 

Moreover,  it  was  distinctly  irritating  to  the  girls  to 
hear  their  young  men  friends  exclaim :  "  That  cousin 
of  yours  is  the  prettiest  girl  I've  ever  seen." 

A  hum-drum  life  was  not  the  life  for  Morna.  She 
was  devoted  to  her  grandmother,  and  she  was  loyal,  but 
down  in  her  gay,  warm  heart  dwelt  the  yearning  for  the 
things  that  belong  to  the  young.  She  longed  to  be  out 
in  the  world  with  the  inhabitants  thereof,  and  not  to  be 
mooning  her  youth  away  in  the  solitudes.  She  had 
tasted  the  sweets  of  life  and  she  liked  them.  They 
were  to  be  found  among  the  multitudes  and  not  in  the 
pastoral  sanctity  of  a  good  home !  **  4*t*£ 

Thousands  of  girls  make  their  own  way  in  the  world, 
and  get  a  good  deal  out  of  life.  Why  shouldn't  she 
do  the  same?  Thousands  of  girls  forsake  the  comforts 
of  good  homes  and  fare  forth  into  a  world  of  stern  ex- 
actions, there  to  bloom  in  full  view  of  all  observers. 
Morna  did  not  want  to  bloom  unseen.  True,  she  wor- 
shipped the  comforts  of  life ;  there  were  times  when  she 
doubted  her  ability  to  get  along  without  them,  as  con- 
ceivably she  might  have  to  do  if  she  undertook  to  make 
her  own  way  in  the  world.  Sometimes  she  shuddered 
over  the  possibility  of  privations,  but  never  did  it  oc- 
cur to  her  to  be  troubled  by  doubts  concerning  the 
morality  of  the  world  into  which  her  young  beauty 
was  to  venture  unattended. 


118  SHERRY 

She  was  seven  years  old  when  Mrs.  Compton  made 
her  first  and  only  trip  across  the  Atlantic.  The  child's 
father  had  been  dead  two  years.  While  every  one  else 
seemed  to  consider  his  widow  a  very  lucky  person  in 
being  so  satisfactorily  bereaved,  the  lady  herself  was 
not  able  to  reason  along  the  same  lines.  She  had 
loved  her  good-looking,  light-hearted  Irishman,  and  he 
had  loved  her.  Relatives,  near  and  remote,  were 
agreed  that  it  ought  to  be  a  tremendous  relief,  and  told 
her  so  in  what  they  considered  a  very  warm  and  sym- 
pathetic manner.  Certainly,  they  argued,  it  was  not 
an  affliction  to  be  restored  to  the  family  fireside  after 
five  years  of  poverty  and  Catholicism.  God,  they  said, 
had  snatched  her  from  the  Roman  Catholic  church,  and 
they  could  not  understand  why  she  refused  to  thank 
Him  for  the  profound  benefaction!  She  could  now 
come  back  into  the  church  of  her  forebears  and  — 

But  one  day  she  turned  on  them  with  eyes  that  blazed 
and  a  voice  that  trembled  with  fury. 

"  I  am  a  Catholic  and  I  shall  remain  one  as  long  as 
I  live  —  and  afterward,  too.  I  loved  my  husband  and 
I  love  his  church.  I  shall  strive  to  bring  my  little  girl 
up  to  be  a  good  Catholic.  If  she  chooses  to  forsake  our 
church  when  she  is  older,  I  shall  not  oppose  her.  She 
has  as  much  right  to  be  a  Protestant  as  I  had  up  to  the 
time  I  was  married,  and,  if  she  sees  fit,  she  may  again 
become  one  of  you,  for  she  has  the  divine  right  to 
change  her  mind.  She  may," —  and  here  she  smiled  in 
a  way  they  did  not  like,  because  they  could  not  com- 
prehend — "  she  may  even  marry  a  good  Protestant. 
There  are  such  things,  you  know." 

Only  Mrs.  Compton  spoke  in  reply  to  this.     That 


SHERRY  lly 

shrewd,  far-seeing  lady  held  up  her  hand,  checking  the 
angry  retort  of  an  outraged  son-in-law. 

"  Just  because  Patrick  O'Brien  had  cause  to  believe 
there  are  no  good  Protestants,"  she  said,  "  is  no  reason 
why  his  child  should  grow  up  believing  the  same.  Let 
us  try  to  convince  her  as  we  go  along  that  there  are 
good  Protestants.  I  don't  believe  in  arguing  politics 
01  religion.  We  cannot  get  into  heaven  any  easier  by 
arguing,  but  we  sometimes  get  there  a  little  bit  quicker, 
depending  on  the  temper  of  the  person  whose  religion 
we  abuse.  I  daresay  we  shah1  meet  a  number  of  Cath- 
olics in  heaven,  and  they  will  probably  be  as  dumb- 
founded to  see  us  there  as  we  are  to  see  them.  Let 
the  mother  alone,  I  say,  and  let  the  child  alone.  They 
still  belong  to  Patsy  O'Brien,  dead  though  he  may  be, 
and  we  can't  do  anything  about  it.  Time  mends 
everything.  I  only  hope  it  may  soon  mend  Harriet's 
heart.  Her  soul  will  take  care  of  itself.  I  will  be 
overjoyed  if  she  sees  her  way  clear  to  renouncing  this 
new  religion  of  hers,  but  if  she  doesn't  —  well,  there 
sha'n't  be  anything  more  said  about  it.  So  let  her 
alone,  all  of  you." 

But  so  inexorable  was  the  resentment  of  her  sisters 
and  her  brothers-in-law  that  Harriet  O'Brien,  after  en- 
during for  two  years  the  polite  tolerance  of  these  wor- 
thy Christians,  declared  to  her  mother  that  she  could 
stand  it  no  longer.  Thereupon  Mrs.  Compton,  to  the 
utter  dismay  of  all  the  relatives,  packed  herself  and 
Harriet  off  to  Europe,  and  spent  a  most  enlightening 
year  in  travel.  She  came  home  alone.  For  ten  years 
Harriet  and  her  daughter  remained  in  Paris,  where  the 
child  was  given  every  advantage  that  love  and  money 


120  SHERRY 

could  obtain  for  her.  Harriet  O'Brien  did  not  return 
to  Farragut  until  they  brought  her  back  from  New 
York  City  to  lay  her  in  the  Catholic  cemetery  along- 
side the  grave  of  her  unforgotten  and  always-beloved 
Patsy.  Morna  was  nineteen  when  her  mother  died. 
On  the  day  of  the  funeral, —  which  many  Protestants 
attended,  by  the  way, —  she  took  up  her  abode  with 
Mrs.  Compton  in  the  house  on  the  hill,  and  there  she 
remained,  cut  off  from  the  world  she  loved,  but  happy 
in  being  permitted  to  repay  in  some  measure  the  great 
debt  of  kindness  she  owed  to  the  mother  of  her  mother. 

She  was  a  tonic  for  the  old  lady.  Her  vitality,  her 
engaging  smartness,  her  cosmopolitan  airiness,  and 
above  all,  her  warm,  affectionate  nature,  brought  more 
to  the  lonely  old  woman  than  is  possible  to  relate  in 
words.  Mrs.  Compton,  the  formidable,  became  acutely 
dependent  upon  her  exhilarating  granddaughter ;  she 
fell  into  new  ways  without  abandoning  old  habits,  and, 
instead  of  shrivelling  under  the  age  that  had  come 
upon  her,  throve  in  spite  of  it.  A  time  there  was  when 
the  head  of  the  Compton  family  considered  it  a  vain 
extravagance,  not  in  money  but  in  time,  to  attend  the 
theatre.  Now  she  went  frequently  and,  to  her  secret 
amazement,  enjoyed  herself. 

One  of  her  sons-in-law  took  it  upon  himself  on  a  mem- 
orable Sunday  afternoon  to  drop  a  few  hints  concern- 
ing the  dignity  of  old  age,  and  received  a  shock.  She 
told  him  to  mind  his  own  business. 

Morna  knew  but  few  young  men  in  Farragut.  She 
had  occasional  "  callers  "  at  the  house  on  the  hill,  us- 
ually circumspect  individuals  who  because  of  their  af- 
filiation with  Mrs.  Compton's  church  assumed  a  brisk 


SHERRY  121 

familiarity  that  did  not  long  endure.  They  did  not 
represent  Morna's  idea  of  true  manhood  although  it 
must  be  said  for  them  that  they  neither  drank  nor 
smoked  nor  ventured  beyond  a  perfect  "  pshaw  "  in  the 
matter  of  blasphemy. 

The  "  live  "  young  men  of  Farragut  were  frowned 
upon  by  Mrs.  Compton ;  she  had  no  use  for  the  dancing 
crowd  whose  names  one  always  encountered  in  the  so- 
cial columns  of  her  newspapers.  The  few  dances 
Morna  attended  after  her  period  of  mourning  was  over 
afforded  some  lively  studies  in  contrasts.  She  discov- 
ered the  "  drinking  set,"  and  was  disgusted,  if  not 
shocked,  by  the  broad  unconventionality  of  these 
young  men  toward  the  women  of  their  acquaintance; 
and  a  painful  lack  of  resentment  on  the  part  of  the 
women,  married  or  single,  who  belonged  to  the  so-called 
smart  set.  Morna  was  not  ignorant;  she  had  learned 
many  things  in  the  girls'  schools ;  but  her  stock  of  wis- 
dom was  put  to  the  test  before  she  had  been  more  than 
thirty  minutes  in  the  company  of  one  particular  group 
of  young  men  and  women  in  a  home  that  stood  for  the 
highest  ideals.  She  heard  things  said  in  the  presence 
of  young  girls  at  this  big  supper  table  that  should  have 
called  forth  instant  rebuke  from  certain  matrons, — 
and  were  received  instead  with  hilarious  laughter  by 
every  one  present. 

Morna  was  clean-hearted.  The  shrieking  attempts 
at  double  entendre,  the  broad  play  on  words,  the  smart 
though  veiled  obscenities,  were  not  funny  to  her.  She 
did  not  laugh.  She  went  home  disgusted  with  the 
whole  lot  of  them,  and  was  astonished  to  learn  that  her 
cousins  thought  these  bold  young  men  amazingly  bright 


SHERRY 

and  clever.  She  did  not  like  the  sanctimonious  nin- 
compoops who  came  to  see  her;  she  could  not  endure 
the  brazen  worldlings ;  and,  as  there  appeared  to  be  no 
young  gentlemen  of  intermediate  qualifications  handy, 
she  concluded  in  her  own  mind  that  a  very  forlorn 
time  lay  ahead  of  her. 

Being  lonely,  she  did  the  thing  that  all  lonely  and 
romantic-minded  young  people  do  at  one  time  or  an- 
other in  the  transitory  stages:  she  began  to  write  a 
novel.  All  lonely  people  try  to  write  novels.  Writing 
is  the  solace  of  the  socially  unemployed.  Six  chapters 
of  a  very  dreadful  love  story  were  completed  before 
Morna  realized  how  unutterably  bad  they  were.  Her 
Irish  impulsiveness  was  quick  to  take  advantage  of  a 
momentarily  weakened  state  of  Compton  doggedness. 
It  was  responsible  for  the  sudden  destruction  by  fire  of 
two  hundred  pages  of  foolscap  paper.  Shortly  after 
this  lamentable  literary  calamity,  she  quarrelled  with 
her  grandmother  —  and  ran  away  from  home. 

As  we  already  know,  she  got  as  far  as  the  concrete 
bridge,  and  then  went  back  again.  Since  that  memor- 
able morn, —  now  five  days  past, —  she  had  been  con- 
sciously keeping  alive  a  new  grievance  against  circum- 
stance. Try  as  she  would,  she  could  not  extract  com- 
fort from  any  argument  in  defence  of  her  oversight 
on  the  morning  of  the  flight.  She  had  neglected  to 
pay  the  man  his  wage,  and  he  had  added  to  the  misery 
of  the  situation  by  disappearing  in  a  most  significant 
manner  before  she  had  a  chance  to  recall  the  obligation. 
He  should  have  awaited  her  pleasure  and  convenience. 
She  would  have  got  around  to  it  in  time.  In  any  event, 
a  person  is  expected  to  at  least  put  in  a  claim  for  his 


SHERRY  123 

pay.  Who  ever  has  heard  of  a  menial  failing  to  de- 
mand his  due?  But  this  young  man  had  calmly 
walked  away,  leaving  her  in  a  most  unenviable  posi- 
tion /0  c^M1^*'  "*"^  ^-°«*3-*  ****LJ+*JkJU  / 

' 

She  obtained  but  little  solace  in  paying  him  at  Mr. 
Gilman's  garden  wall  a  couple  of  days  later.  The  ep- 
isode was  not  quite  all  that  she  had  intended  it  to  be. 
He  was  not  in  the  least  crushed  or  humiliated  by  her 
top-loftiness.  Indeed,  he  had  rather  the  better  of  the 
situation.  She  had  made  a  complete  muddle  of  the 
whole  business.  That  is  why  she  sat  up  nights  wish- 
ing him  all  sorts  of  misfortune. 

Who  was  he  anyhow?  A  ne'er-do-well,  a  drunkard, 
a  wastrel,  a  pariah  —  (she  had  made  use  of  these  words 
in  the  construction  of  her  uncompleted  novel  because 
they  had  a  sound  literary  flavor)  —  a  disgrace  to  his 
family  and  a  —  But  there  always  intervened  an  alle- 
viating recollection  of  his  good  looks,  his  good-hu- 
moured gallantry,  and,  above  all,  the  singular  effect  he 
had  on  her  emotions  that  morning.  She  may  have  for- 
gotten to  pay  him  for  carrying  her  bags  but  she  would 
never  forget  that  she  owed  him  an  incalculable  debt  for 
the  change  of  heart  he  had  brought  about  in  her. 
Still,  she  was  very  sure  that  she  did  not  like  him.  He 
had  behaved  most  abominably. 

Occasionally  she  wondered  what  he  was  doing. 

After  night-fall  the  black  depths  of  Compton's 
Woods  had  an  extraordinary  fascination  for  her. 
Sometimes  she  shivered  as  she  looked  down  upon  their 
sombre  solitudes ;  nothing  in  all  the  world  could  have 
hired  her  to  sleep  out  there ! 

On  the  night  that  Sherry  dined  with  Mr.  Oilman  and 


124  SHERRY 

listened  to  his  staggering  proposition,  Morna  and  Mrs. 
Compton  attended  the  theatre  in  town.  There  was  but 
one  first-class  playjhouse,  the  Grand,  and,  as  Morna 
kept  herself  well  posted  in  matters  theatrical,  very  few 
of  the  worthwhile  "  attractions  "  appeared  there  with- 
out finding  the  two  women  in  the  audience.  On  this 
particular  August  night  a  brand  new  "  musical  com- 
edy "  was  having  its  "  try-out "  preparatory  to  an 
opening  in  Chicago  two  weeks  later.  While  it  was,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  experiencing  its  real  "  opening  night," 
any  one  of  the  performers  sarcastically  would  have  re- 
minded you  that  it  was  being  "  tried  on  the  clog,"  and 
that  the  only  safe  place  to  do  such  a  thing  as  that  is 
iri  a  "  tank  town."  The  press  agent  did  not,  however, 
speak  of  Farragut  as  a  tank  town ;  in  his  advance  no- 
tices he  called  it  an  enterprising,  discriminating  city, 
accustomed  to  and  entitled  to  the  very  best  of  every- 
thing. He  would  "  no  more  think  of  sending  a  No.  2 
company  to  Farragut,  than  he  would  think  of  putting 
a  Sunday  school  choir  in  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
^House."  He  paid  Farragut  a  compliment  by  uttering 
in  small  caps  that  Chicago's  opinion  of  the  show  would 
be  moulded  largely  after  what  Farragut  had  to  say 
about  it.  If,  said  he,  a  play  "  got  over  "  before  such 
a  discerning,  intelligent  audience  as  Farragut  was  able 
to  produce,  it  was  a  "  pipe  "  that  it  would  "  go  "  any- 
^  where  in  the  world, —  even  in  "  little  old  New  York," — 
and  the  newspapers  printed  it  without  "  quotes." 

Be  that  as  it  may,  the  hour  of  midnight  arrived  be- 
fore the  fall  of  the  final  curtain,  and  lucky  it  was  for 
Farragut  that  its  inhabitants  were  not  permitted  to 
hear  what  was  said  by  the  manager  and  the  stage  di- 


SHERRY  125 

rector  to  the  unfortunate  cast  and  chorus  behind  that 
protecting  screen. 

Among  other  things :  "  If  you  can't  make  these 
damned  boobs  laugh,  how  do  you  expect  to  get  a  smile 
out  of  real  people?  Why,  they'll  laugh  at  anything  in 
a  burg  like  this,  and  you  ought  to  have  had  'em  cacklin' 
so  hard,  with  all  the  stuff  this  piece  has  got,  that 
they'd  be  ehokin'  themselves  to  death  on  the  peanuts 
and  popcorn  they  brought  with  them." 

It  was  nearly  one  o'clock  when  the  green  touring 
car  slowed  down  for  the  sharp  turn  into  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton's  driveway.  The  headlights  swung  full  upon  a  tall, 
solitary  figure  standing  just  outside  the  big  gatev 
which  had  been  left  open  for  the  return.  The  driver 
put  on  his  brakes. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  demanded  as  the 
car  came  to  a  stop  and  he  leaned  over  the  wheel  to  peer 
at  the  man,  who  was  now  in  darkness  once  more. 

"What  is  it,  August?"  cried  Mrs.  Compton  quer- 
ulously, coming  out  of  a  pleasant  doze. 

Morna  bent  forward,  staring,  a  flutter  of  alarm  in 
her  breast. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  came  from  the  indistinct  figure 
at  the  roadside.  His  voice  was  quiet  and  reassuring, 
although  a  suppressed  note  of  excitement  would  have 
been  detected  by  a  close  observer.  "  It's  all  right, 
Mrs.  Compton.  Nothing  at  all  to  be  alarmed  about." 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  queried  Morna,  a 
quick  little  catch  in  her  voice.  She  did  not  realize  that 
she  was  repeating  the  words  August  had  uttered ;  they 
were  the  same,  but  the  question  had  a  totally  different 
meaning.  She  emphasized  the  pronoun. 


126  SHERRY 

"Who  is  it,  Morna?  What  does  this  mean,  sir? 
Who  — " 

"  Keep  still,  Granny.  It  is  Mr.  Redpath.  He  won't 
bite  us.  Now  what  has  happened?  " 

"  Nothing, —  really.  It  didn't  happen,  you  see, — 
though  it  might,  just  as  easily  as  not."  He  chuckled. 

"  Drive  on,  August,"  commanded  Miss  O'Brien 
sharply.  Her  heart  sank.  He  had  been  drinking,  she 
was  sure  of  it. 

"Better  let  me  jump  out  and  chase  him — "  began 
the  burly  August. 

"  Drive  on !  "  cried  Morna.     "  Don't  stop  to  — " 

"  What  business  have  you  here  at  this  hour  of  night, 
young  man?  How  dare  you — " 

Redpath  stepped  forward  into  the  light  of  the  lamps 
and  held  up  an  object  for  their  inspection.  It  was  un- 
mistakably a  sack  made  of  bed-ticking  and  it  was  quite 
full  of  something  that  jangled. 

"  See  this  sack  ?  In  reality  it  is  a  pillow  case,  and 
it  contains,  I  fancy,  most  if  not  all  of  the  Compton 
silver,  with  perhaps  a  soupcon  of  diadems,  crown 
jewels  — " 

"  What ! "  shrieked  the  two  women.  August  half 
arose  from  his  seat  behind  the  wheel.  "  Thieves  ?  " 
added  Mrs.  Compton  shrilly.  "  My  silver?  " 

"  Here !  Hand  that  stuff  over !  "  barked  August, 
finding  his  voice.  He  had  at  no  time  lost  his  courage. 

"Don't  you  want  to  hear  about  it?"  inquired 
Sherry,  almost  plaintively.  "  It's  a  corking  good 
story.  I've  waited  nearly  an  hour  to  tell  you  the — " 

Morna  took  the  matter  into  her  own  bands.  "  Get 
into  the  car,  Mr.  Redpath,"  she  cried,  her  voice  quiv- 


SHERRY  127 

ering  with  excitement.  "  Come  up  to  the  house  with 
us.  If  —  if  there  has  been  a  robbery,  I  —  we  wouldn't 
dare  go  in  without  a  man  to  lead  the  way.  Goodness, 
Granny,  isn't  it  thrilling?  " 

"  There  may  be  a  mistake,"  mumbled  Mrs.  Compton, 
still  bewildered.  "  I  don't  recognize  the  pillow  case. 
It—" 

"  I  can  search  the  house,  Miss  Morna,"  interposed 
August  loudly.  "  We  don't  need  any  help." 

"  Perfectly  safe  thing  to  do,  August,"  said  Sherry. 
"  One  of  the  thieves  is  locked  up  in  the  stable  now, 
guarded  by  a  couple  of  Swedes,  and  the  other  is  lying 
in  the  fence  corner  just  behind  me,  securely  bound  in 
leathern  thongs, —  a  belt,  Mrs.  Compton, —  and  a 
very  stout  necktie,  the  absence  of  which  I  would  de- 
plore were  I  standing  before  you  in  broad  daylight. 
However,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  go  up  to  the  house 
with  you,  provided  August  remains  here  to  stand  guard 
over  our  captive.  I  — " 

"  We  must  telephone  to  town  for  the  police  at  once," 
began  Mrs.  Compton  briskly.  "  Morna,  get  up  in 
front  and  drive.  August,  you  may  stay  here  and  — 
Dear  me,  where  is  the  fellow,  Mr.  Redpath?  You  say 
he  is  securely  tied?  Let  me  see  him  if — " 

"  He  is  tied  but  not  gagged,  Mrs.  Compton.  He  is 
in  a  blasphemous  frame  of  mind,  so  I'd  advise  you  to 
forego  the  pleasure  of  viewing  what  remains  of  him. 
You  see,  being  bound,  he  can't  very  well  remove  the 
stains  of  battle  from  his  face,  and  he  isn't  a  pretty 
thing  at  best." 

"  Is  he  —  injured?  "  cried  Morna. 

"  Merely   damaged.     I    overtook    him   here    at    the 


128  SHERRY 

gates.  It  was  so  dark  he  couldn't  see  the  rock  I  fired 
at  him,  so  he  didn't  dodge.  He's  all  right,  however. 
For  the  last  half-hour  he  has  been  telling  me  what  he's 
going  to  do  to  me  when  he  gets  out,  so  I'm  sure  he 
is  not  permanently  hors-de-combat.  Incidentally,  the 
police  have  been  notified.  They  ought  to  be  here  be- 
fore long." 

"  Has  he  got  a  gun?  "  demanded  August,  now  on  the 
ground  and  staring  at  a  black,  indistinct  object  along- 
side the  fence. 

"  Not  now,  August.  Here  it  is.  Perhaps  you'd 
better  take  it.  There  are  three  shots  left  in  it,  I 
think." 

"  Only  three  ?  Then  —  why,  by  gum,  there  must 
Jba'  been  some  shootin  ' !  " 

"  Desultory  firing,"  remarked  Sherry,  from  the  ton- 
neau,  where  he  had  deposited  the  sack  of  silver  and  was 
seating  himself  beside  Mrs.  Compton. 

Morna  whirled  in  the  driver's  seat.  Her  voice  was 
filled  with  alarm.  "  Did  —  did  he  shoot  at  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  He  didn't  hit  me,  if  that's  what 
you  mean.  You  see  it  was  so  dark  the  poor  wretch 
couldn't  get  a  perfect  aim  at  anything.  He  says  he 
didn't  shoot  at  me.  Says  the  thing  went  off  without 
his  knowing  it, —  just  as  revolvers  always  do.  He 
has  the  nerve  to  tell  me  that  he  didn't  know  it  was 
loaded." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  three  of  them  were  in  the 
dining-room,  going  over  the  contents  of  the  sack.  The 
cook  and  the  maid-of-all-work  were  separating  the  small 
and  flat  silver  into  piles,  all  the  while  interrupting  Red- 
path's  story  with  sharp,  excited  promptings  of  their 


SHERRY  129 

own.  Even  the  emphatic  Mrs.  Compton  could  not 
restrain  them.  There  were  some  things  about  the 
robbery  that  Mr.  Redpath  didn't  know  and  they  did, 
so  why  shouldn't  — 

"  One  of  these  'ere  teaspoons  is  missin',  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton," broke  in  the  cook  triumphantly. 

"  Never  mind ;  we'll  find  it,  Lizzie.  Go  on,  Mr.  Red- 
path,  and,  Kate,  please  count  under  your  breath.  It 
isn't  necessary  to  bawl  out  like  that." 

"  Well,  all  the  jewels  is  safe  anyhow,"  said  Lizzie. 
"  Not  a  thing  missin'.  Here's  that  little  turkey  pin 
that  I  give  you  for  Christmas  back  in  — " 

"  How  many  o'  these  forks  ought  there  to  be,  Mrs. 
Compton?  "  inquired  Kate,  holding  up  a  sample. 

"  One  dozen,"  groaned  their  exasperated  mistress. 

"  That's  right.     There's  just  a  dozen." 

"  Funny  what  a  robber  would  want  of  a  silver  thim- 
ble," commented  Lizzie.  "  As  I  was  sayin',  the  screen 
in  the  south  winder  at  the  back  of  the  — " 

"  You  were  saying,  Mr.  Redpath,"  broke  in  Mrs. 
Compton,  after  staring  Lizzie  into  utter  silence,  "  that 
you  followed  the  men  up  to  the  house.  Now  go  on, 
please.  Where  did  you  first  encounter  them?  " 

"  It's  really  quite  a  short  story,  Mrs.  Compton,  and 
everything  was  so  simple  that  you'd  hardly  believe  it. 
You  see,  I've  been  sleeping  in  Compton's  Woods  thes« 
sultry  nights.  Miss  O'Brien  may  have  told  you  so." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I've  heard  about  that,"  impatiently. 

"  Tonight  I  dined  out  and,  being  a  bit  exercised 
over  some  news  I'd  had  during  the  evening,  I  —  but 
I  think  I've  already  mentioned  this  — " 

"  Yes,  you  have.     Pray  get  on.     The  police  may  be 


130  SHERRY 

here  any  minute,  and  I  want  to  see  the  fellow  in  the 
stable  before  they  take  him  away.  Lizzie,  ask  Mat- 
son  and  Ole  to  fetch  him  into  the  kitchen  at  once.  I 
may  be  able  to  identify  him.  Proceed,  Mr.  Redpath." 

"Well,  I  concluded  to  take  a  long  walk, —  just  to 
quiet  my  nerves,  don't  you  know.  Somehow  or  other 
I  meandered  clear  down  to  this  end  of  the  woods.  It 
was  about  half-past  ten  o'clock.  My  bedtime,  I  may 
say.  Inasmuch  as  I've  been  making  my  bed  wherever 
it  is  dry  and  convenient,  I  didn't  see  any  sense  in 
tramping  clear  back  to  the  other  end  of  my  bedcham- 
ber when  the  turf  is  just  as  good  at  this  end,  so  I  con- 
cluded to  turn  in  for  the  night  just  a  little  way  above 
your  gates.  There  is  a  fine  bit  of  turf  about  a  hun- 
dred yards  back  in  the  woods, —  much  superior,  in 
fact,  to  anything  I'm  accustomed  to, —  and  I  was 
stretching  my  bones  out  very  pleasantly  when  I  heard 
some  one  speak  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  clump  of 
hazel  brush  to  my  right." 

"  Oh,  dear ! "  murmured  Morna,  breathless  with  ex- 
citement. "  Weren't  you  lucky  they  happened  to  come 
up  on  that  side  ?  " 

"  Rather.  And  you  were  lucky,  too,  that  they 
stopped  there  for  consultation.  Otherwise  I  wouldn't 
have  known  what  was  in  the  air.  I  don't  want  to  be 
classed  as  an  eavesdropper,  so  I  was  on  the  point  of 
coughing  just  to  warn  him  that  some  one  was  listen- 
ing,—  you  see,  Mrs.  Compton,  when  a  fellow  sleeps  out 
in  the  woods  as  I've  been  doing,  he  hears  and  sees 
things  that  no  one  is  expected  to  see  or  hear  —  just 
to  warn  him  to  be  careful  what  he  said,  when  his  com- 
panion spoke,  and  I  discovered,  to  my  surprise,  that 
he  was  also  a  man.  It  isn't  such  bad  form  to  listen  to 


SHERRY  131 

what  two  men  have  to  say  to  each  other,  so  I  thought 
better  of  it  and  didn't  cough.  To  shorten  the  story, 
I  distinctly  heard  these  two  fellows  arranging  their 
plans  for  the  burglarizing  of  your  house.  It  seems 
they  knew  you  were  in  town  at  the  theatre, —  which 
was  news  to  me,  of  course, —  and  that  the  two  hired 
men  sleep  above  the  stable.  The  plan  was  to  get  into 
the  house  through  the  west  wing, —  your  side,  I  ga- 
thered, and  therefore  quite  unoccupied  at  the  time. 
The  servants  were  supposed  to  be  asleep  at  the  far  end 
of  the  other  wing.  They  — " 

"  That's  where  they  got  fooled,"  broke  in  Kate. 
<c  We  was  in  bed  but  not  asleep.  I  — " 

"  They  appeared  to  know  a  good  deal  about  the  in- 
terior of  the  house,  where  the  silver  is  kept,  and  the 
jewels,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  They  also  knew 
that  you  are  afraid  of  dogs  in  August,  Mrs.  Compton, 
since  a  setter  went  mad  a  good  many  years  ago  and 
bit  a  lot  of  cattle." 

"  Goodness  !  Just  fancy  that  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton. "  Local  talent,  Mr.  Redpath,  you  may  be  sure." 

"  So  they  didn't  have  to  worry  about  dogs.  That 
seemed  to  please  them  immensely.  I'd  hate  to  tell  you 
what  they  said  about  people  living  in  the  country  with- 
out plenty  of  dogs  about." 

"  You  needn't.     I  can  surmise." 

"  Now  you'll  get  the  Airedale  I've  been  — " 

"  Never  mind,  Morna.  Let  Mr.  Redpath  finish  his 
story." 

"  They  had  it  all  figured  out  that  you  wouldn't  get 
home  before  midnight.  Ample  time  to  do  the  job  and 
make  their  getaway.  Then  they  sneaked  out  of  the 
woods  and  started  for  the  house.  It  was  very  dark, 


132  SHERRY 

but  I  thought  it  best  not  to  risk  following  too  close  be- 
hind, so  I  gave  them  a  few  minutes'  start.  There 
isn't  much  more  to  tell.  It  was  all  very  simple.  One 
of  them  stayed  outside  the  window  while  the  other  went 
in.  I  managed  in  some  way  to  surprise  the  outside 
man  and  he  succumbed, —  without  a  word,  you  might 
say.  But  it  was  quite  another  thing  to  tackle  the  in- 
side fellow.  The  situation  called  for  reflection.  He 
would  have  a  gun  and  he  would  have  the  advantage  if 
I  went  in  after  him.  While  I  was  trying  to  figure  it 
out,  the  most  unearthly  yell  went  up  from  somewhere 
in  the  house.  I've  never  heard  anything  so  blood- 
curdling. Then  I  heard  some  one  running  on  the  in- 
side. The  screeches  continued.  That  was  reassuring. 
Then  I  heard  a  shout  from  the  stable.  Like  a  flash 
the  peril  of  my  own  position  dawned  upon  me.  Those 
men  of  yours  would  come  piling  out  and,  not  knowing 
me  for  a  friend,  would  begin  blazing  away  at  me  with 
shotguns  or  something.  I'd  have  the  burglar  shoot- 
ing me  from  one  side  and  they  from  the  other.  It 
wasn't  a  nice  idea,  was  it,  Miss  O'Brien?  " 

"I  —  should  —  say  —  not !  "  gulped  Morna. 
"  Only  granny  refuses  to  let  anybody  have  a  gun  on  the 
place.  But,  of  course,  you  didn't  know  that,  Mr. 
Redpath." 

"  It  was  Lizzie  that  let  out  them  screams,"  said 
Kate,  defensively.  "  I  never  opened  my  mouth.  I  — " 

"  Discretion  being  better  than  anything  else  I  had 
in  stock,  I  scooted  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  and 
waited  for  events.  Out  of  the  window  came  some- 
thing that  jingled  when  it  hit  the  ground;  then  there 
was  some  subdued  blasphemy,  and  after  that  a  solid 


SHERRY  133 

thud  on  the  gravel  walk.  Two  seconds  later,  a  man 
shot  past  me  on  the  dead  run.  He  was  carrying  the 
thing  that  rattled  and  jingled.  I  knew  what  it  was. 
Loot!  I  lit  out  after  him,  and,  by  Jove!  What  do 
you  think  happened  then  ?  He  mistook  me  for  his  pal 
and  called  back  to  me  to  beat  it  for  myself,  not  to 
mind  him, —  separate,  go  our  own  ways, —  do  you  see  ? 
We  went  down  the  lane  at  a  wonderful  clip.  I  was  a 
runner  at  college,  Mrs.  Compton,  besides  being  the 
prize  scholar.  Down  there  at  the  gate  I  overtook  him. 
He  had  tumbled  to  me  some  time  before,  however.  I 
wasn't  playing  the  game.  I  wasn't  separating.  He 
knew  I  was  a  pursuer.  Just  as  we  got  to  the  gate  his 
revolver  went  off.  He  says  it  was  an  accident,  but  I 
didn't  know  that,  of  course.  So  I  stopped  up  very 
suddenly  and  began  looking  for  the  same  kind  of  am- 
munition that  David  used  on  Goliath.  I  was  also  a 
base-ball  player  at  college,  Miss  O'Brien.  Just  as  his 
revolver  went  off  the  second  time,  I  let  fly  at  him  with  a 
fair-sized  boulder, —  we  call  them  dornicks  sometimes, 
Mrs.  Compton.  I  don't  know  how  it  happened,  but  it 
got  him  full  in  the  face.  He  went  down  like  a  log  and 
—  but,  I'll  omit  the  rest,  if  you  don't  mind.  I  tied  him 
up  before  he  came  to.  Down  the  road  came  one  of 
your  men.  He  stopped  at  my  command,  and  after  a 
little  while  I  got  him  to  understand  the  situation.  He 
ran  back  to  telephone  for  the  police.  He  said  he  had 
left  Matson  sitting  on  the  other  thief,  while  a  couple 
of  very  brave  and  faithful  young  women  tied  him  hand 
and  foot  with  clothes-line.  That's  the  whole  story  — 
except  that  I  waited  for  over  an  hour  down  there  at  the 
gate.  I  thought  you  would  nerer  come.  What  was 
the  play,  Miss  O'Brien?  " 


CHAPTER  XI 

MRS.  COMPTON  was  scrutinizing  the  surly, 
half-dazed  "  outside  man  "  when  a  lieuten- 
ant of  police  arrived  with  a  squad  of  men, 
among  whom  was  Barney  Doyle,  bringing  with  them 
from    the    lower    gates    the    sorry    looking   victim    of 
Sherry's  expertness. 

The  "  outside  man  "  was  a  poor  specimen  of  human- 
ity. He  was  a  bony,  weak-faced,  fishy-eyed  young 
fellow  whose  aspen-like  fingers,  cigarette  stained  and 
bloodless,  were  constantly  employed  in  wiping  his 
mouth  or  rummaging  inside  his  loose,  filthy  looking 
collar.  He  was  not  one's  idea  of  a  real  burglar.  He 
expressed  nothing  sinister  or  terrifying.  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton  sniffed  at  him. 

"  Do  you  call  this  a  burglar,  Mr.  Redpath  ?  "  she  in- 
quired ironically.  The  fellow  glowered  back  as  best 
he  could  at  the  glistening  nose-glasses  through  which 
she  scrutinized  him.  He  squirmed  a  little  as  Ole's  big 
hand  tightened  on  his  arm. 

"  No,"  said  Sherry  dubiously.  "  I  can't  say  that  I 
do.  I  think  I  should  call  him  a  caterpillar,  Mrs. 
Compton.  Have  you  ever  seen  him  before  ?  " 

"  Never.     What  is  your  name,  young  man?  " 

"  You  go  to  hell,"  said  the  young  man,  indistinctly. 
Immediately  afterward  he  said  "  ouch ! "  with  great 
distinctness. 

134 


SHERRY  135 

"  Don't  hurt  him,  Ole.  I  wouldn't  have  believed  he 
had  the  spunk  to  say  that,  even  to  a  woman.  He  has 
more  character  than  I  suspected,  Mr.  Redpath." 

Sherry  grinned.  He  was  beginning  to  like  Mrs. 
Compton. 

"  You  should  have  heard  his  partner,  Mrs.  Compton. 
He  —  Hello,  there's  an  automobile.  The  police,  I 
suppose." 

"  Late,  as  usual.  Kate,  tell  them  to  come  around 
to  the  back  door."  Then  she  added  drily :  "  I  am 
receiving  here  tonight." 

The  second  burglar  was  as  formidable  as  his  com- 
panion was  insignificant.  He  was  big  and  powerful- 
looking,  and  he  was  a  sight  to  behold.  One  eye  was 
completely  closed  and  his  face  was  caked  with  blood. 
From  the  other  eye  he  glared  balefully. 

"  Wash  his  face,  Doyle,"  said  the  lieutenant  of 
police. 

"  Never  mind,"  growled  the  man. 

Officer  Doyle  was  staring  in  amazement  at  Sherry 
Redpath. 

"  Wash  it,"  said  Mrs.  Compton  firmly.  "  Lizzie, 
get  some  soap  and  hot  water.  Morna,  don't  be  silly. 
If  you  can't  stand  the  sight  of  blood,  go  into  — " 

"  Castile  soap,"  said  the  burglar,  resignedly. 
"  None  of  your  kitchen-sink  soap.  I  know  what's 
what,  all  right."  His  eye  rested  upon  his  shrinking 
partner.  "  You  little  —  oh,  what's  the  use !  There 
isn't  a  word  in  the  language  that  will  fit  you." 

"  He  got  me  with  a  rap  on  the  bean,"  began  the 
"  outside  man  "  whiningly.  "  Say,  honest  to  God,  I 
never  knowed  what  hit  me.  I  swear  to  — " 


186  SHERRY 

"  Shut  up ! "  snarled  the  big  man,  and  the  little  one 
began  to  cry. 

Sherry  Redpath  slipped  his  arm  through  Morna's 
and  pressed  it  encouragingly.  She  looked  up  into  his 
face,  surprised  but  not  resentful.  Indeed,  she  was  im- 
mensely grateful  for  the  support  of  his  strong  arm. 
He  had  noticed  the  pallor  in  her  cheek  and  the  tightly 
closed  fingers. 

"  Don't  keel  over,"  he  whispered.  "  Your  grand- 
mother is  a  marvel,  isn't  she  ?  " 

Morna  nodded  her  head  and  tried  to  smile. 

"  Better  not  look  at  him  until  after  Barney  gets 
through  washing  his  face,"  he  advised  gently.  "  I  get 
a  little  squeamish  myself  sometimes  when  I  see  the  open 
cuts.  Chicken-hearted,  you  know.5* 

"  You  chicken-hearted? "  she  murmured,  turning, 
away  at  his  bidding.  He  squeezed  her  arm  again. 

From  time  to  time  Barney  Doyle  looked  up  from  his 
job  at  the  kitchen  sink,  and  always  his  gaze  sought  out 
Sherry  Redpath,  perplexity  deepening  in  his  eyes  with 
each  successive  glance.  He  was  rapidly  reducing  the 
big  burglar's  sanguinary  countenance  to  a  recogniza- 
ble condition. 

Mrs.  Compton  observed  the  handcuffs  on  the  fel- 
low's wrists. 

"  They  are  quite  strong  and  safe,  I  hope  ?  "  she  said, 
with  a  jerk  of  her  head  which  the  lieutenant  inter- 
preted. 

"Sure,"  he  replied.  "The  very  latest,"  he  added 
with  convincing  pride. 

"  That's  good,"  said  Mrs.  Compton,  relieved. 

At  that  moment  Barney  put  the  final  touches  on  his 


SHERRY  137 

subject's  face  and  wheeled  him  about  to  confront  the 
waiting  audience.  Two  policemen  tramped  into  the 
kitchen.  Saluting  the  lieutenant,  one  of  them  re- 
ported that  no  further  clues  had  been  found. 

"  Clues  ?  "  cried  the  mistress  of  the  house.  "  Aren't 
the  men  themselves  clues  enough  ?  " 

"  He  means  evidence,  ma'am,"  explained  the  lieuten- 
ant. "  Now,  let's  have  a  look  at  this  guy.  Look  up, 
you!" 

The  big  burglar  lifted  his  head.  His  eyes  trans- 
fixed Mrs.  Compton.  One  standing  close  to  her  might 
have  heard  the  sharp  intake  of  her  breath.  Redpath, 
after  a  brief  glance  at  his  victim's  livid  face,  turned 
his  eyes  upon  Mrs.  Compton,  who  stood  straight  and 
unafraid  in  front  of  the  man.  His  gaze  remained 
fixed  by  the  curiously  rigid,  tense  look  in  her  eyes* 

"  Strange  mug  to  me,"  advanced  the  lieutenant*. 
"  Ever  see  him  before  ?  "  He  addressed  the  three  blue- 
coats.  They  shook  their  heads. 

"  Chicago,"  said  Barney  Doyle,  and  they  all  nodded 
their  heads,  apparently  satisfied. 

"  This  is  the  one  that  described  the  house  and 
grounds,  Mrs.  Compton,"  said  Redpath,  still  watching 
her  closely.  "  He  appeared  to  know  the  place  quite 
well." 

"  Aha,  is  that  so  ?  "  said  the  lieutenant,  scowling 
upon  the  burglar.  "  Knowed  the  lay  o'  the  land,  did 
he?  Well,  that's  important.  Have  you  ever  seen  him 
before,  Mrs.  Compton?  Ever  work  on  your  place?" 

She  did  not  reply  at  once.  When  she  spoke,  a  mo- 
ment later,  Sherry  was  absolutely  certain  that  she  an- 
swered but  one  of  the  two  questions :  the  last. 


138  SHERRY 

"  Never,"  she  said  slowly,  her  gaze  still  meeting  the 
glittering  eye  of  the  captive. 

"  Some  of  these  servants  of  yours  may  recollect 
him,"  said  the  officer,  applying  her  response  to  both 
of  his  questions.  While  he  was  examining  the  serv- 
ants, Mrs.  Compton  looked  at  each  of  them  in  turn, 
and  there  was  something  more  than  inquiry  in  her  eyes. 
There  was  uneasiness,  apprehension.  Redpath  real- 
ized that  something  unusual,  something  mysterious  was 
transpiring  before  his  eyes ;  there  was  not  the  slightest 
doubt  in  his  mind  that  Mrs.  Compton  had  seen  the  man 
before. 

Morna  was  breathing  jerky,  shuddery  comments  on 
the  vicious  appearance  of  the  big  burglar.  From  her 
remarks,  he  was  convinced  that  she  did  not  share  the 
secret,  if  there  was  one;  it  rested  with  her  grand- 
mother and  the  thief. 

He  was  conscious  of  a  curiously  warm,  exquisite 
glow  that  spread  through  his  body  from  head  to  foot. 
The  air  that  he  breathed  was  full  of  tender,  delicious 
shocks,  and  there  was  a  fragrance  that  —  So  impel- 
ling was  the  emotion  of  delight  that  he  looked  down 
wonderingly  into  her  face,  and  for  the  moment  forgot 
Mrs.  Compton  and  her  burglar.  He  therefore  missed 
the  almost  imperceptible  shake  of  the  head  delivered 
by  the  latter  over  the  shoulder  of  Barney  Doyle,  and 
the  sharp  contraction  of  the  eyes  of  the  only  person 
who  witnessed  the  movement. 

A  few  minutes1  later,  the  captives  were  bundled  out 
of  the  kitchen  by  the  police.  From  the  door  the  big 
one  glanced  back  at  Mrs.  Compton.  Redpath,  coming 


SHERRY  139 

up  from  behind,  was  sure  that  he  saw  her  shoulders  lift 
in  a  slight  convulsive  shudder. 

"  A  good  night's  work,  Mrs.  Compton,"  the  lieuten- 
ant of  police  was  saying.  "  We  have  nabbed  a  couple 
of  bad  ones.  It's  a  habit  we're  getting  into.  Mighty 
few  of  them  get  away,  ma'am.  Good  night  to  you." 

"  Any  room  for  me  in  the  car,  lieutenant  ? "  in- 
quired Sherry.  "  I'll  ride  up  to  town  if  you  — " 

"  Not  a  bit  o'  room,"  said  the  officer,  eyeing  him 
coldly.  He  knew  nothing  good  of  Sherry  Redpath. 
What  the  dickens  did  he  mean  by  asking  for  a  ride  up 
to  town  in  the  police  department's  private  automo- 
bile? "  And  now  that  I  think  of  it,  what  are  you  do- 
ing out  here?  I  guess  I'll  just  take  you  along  in  any- 
how, and  put  a  few  questions  to  you  after  we  get  to 
headquar —  Say,  what's  the  joke?  Come  on,  now! 
You  won't  think  it's  so  funny  — " 

"  It  happens  to  have  been  Mr.  Redpath,  officer,  who 
nabbed  your  men  for  you,"  said  Morna  indignantly. 
"  He  took  both  of  them,  single-handed." 

"  Well,  what  the  — "  began  the  officer,  his  eyes  bulg- 
ing. 

Barney  Doyle  stuck  his  head  in  at  the  door.  He 
was  grinning  from  ear  to  ear. 

"  I  say,  Sherry,  bedad,  you're  the  joy  av  me  heart! 
The  big  guy  just  swore  he'd  get  ye  some  day,  an'  then 
out  came  the  story.  Ye  nailed  both  av  them,  did  ye? 
Well,  bedad, —  beggin'  your  pardon,  ma'am,  for 
swearin' — " 

"  You  did  it  ?  "  gasped  the  lieutenant,  passing  his 
hand  over  his  brow. 


140  SHERRY 

"Who  do  you  think  did  it?  These  ladies?"  in- 
quired Sherry,  good-naturedly. 

The  lieutenant  stuck  out  his  hand.  "  I  take  off  my 
hat  to  you,  Redpath.  I  hear  you're  lookin'  for  a  job. 
Well,  the  force  is  lookin'  for  just  such  material  as 
you—" 

"Thanks,  Charlie.  I've  got  a  job.  But  I'll  take 
the  lift  to  town  if  you'll  give  it  to  me." 

"  I  will  have  August  take  you  up  to  town,  Mr.  Red- 
path,"  said  Mrs.  Compton.  "  Allow  me  to  do  that 
much  at  least  for  you.  I  would  like  a  few  words  with 
you  before  you  go,  however,  if  you  don't  mind  wait- 
ing." 

When  the  house  was  quiet  once  more, —  and  it  was 
no  easy  matter  to  obtain  quiet  with  Lizzie  and  Kate 
still  willing  to  talk, —  Sherry  accompanied  the  two  la- 
dies to  the  parlour.  (The  parlour,  still  extant  in  certain 
sections  of  this  broad  land,  is  a  room  that  by  any 
other  name  would  smell  as  musty.)  Morna  switched 
on  the  electric  lights.  Everything  about  the  room 
represented  primness,  preciseness,  immobility.  Not  an 
article  had  been  moved  in  years  from  its  hallowed  po- 
sition. Each  and  every  piece  of  furniture  and  bric-a- 
brac,  dusted  once  a  week,  had  been  set  back  upon  the 
exact  spot  from  which  it  was  shifted.  Morna  could 
have  told  you  that  the  big  arm  chair  in  the  corner  had 
not  moved  an  inch  from  the  spot  on  which  it  stood 
when  she  first  looked  into  the  room  as  a  tiny  child,  six- 
teen years  before.  The  same  fresh-looking  prodi- 
giously flowered  brussels  carpet  covered  the  floor  and 
the  identical  wall  paper  was  on  the  walls.  It  was,  in 


SHERRY  141 

fact,  a  real  and  unmistakable  parlour  that  Sherry  was 
ushered  into  at  two  o'clock  that  morning. 

"  Mr.  Redpath,"  said  Mrs.  Compton,  after  Morna 
had  closed  the  door  at  her  silent  bidding,  "  you  spoke 
of  sleeping  in  the  woods  tonight.  May  I  not  induce 
you  to  sleep  in  this  house,  instead?  I  am  not  a  timid 
woman, —  at  least,  I  have  never  considered  myself  to 
be  one, —  but  I  am  unnerved  tonight.  I  will  confess 
that  I  am  more  shaken  than  I  have  ever  been  in  my 
life.  I  feel  the  need  of  a  strong,  responsible  man  in 
the  house.  Will  you  not  do  me  a  great  kindness  and 
remain  here?  We  can  make  you  comfortable  and — " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Compton,"  interrupted  he,  "  there 
isn't  a  thing  in  the  world  to  be  uneasy  about.  There 
were  only  two  of  them  — " 

"  Quite  true.  I  am  not  afraid  of  burglars.  On  the 
other  hand,  you  must  remember  that  I  am  a  woman. 
Women  are  never  afraid  until  after  the  crisis  is  past. 
Perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  to  be  one  of  our  char- 
acteristics, but  it  is  a  fact.  We  face  things  with 
amazing  fortitude  and  go  through  with  them  with  even 
more  composure  than  men,  but  as  soon  as  they  are  be- 
hind us  we  collapse.  We  are  not  cowards  before  the 
fact,  but  after  it, —  as  the  lawyers  might  put  it  if  they 
had  sense  enough." 

"  I  will  gladly  stay,"  said  he,  with  a  quick  glance 
at  Morna,  who  was  watching  her  grandmother  with 
puzzled,  incredulous  eyes.  He  too  had  noted  the  ashen 
cheeks  and  the  sudden  haggardness  in  the  elder  wom- 
an's face.  It  was  as  if  she  had  aged  ten  years  in  a 
single  hour.  Her  hand  shook  as  she  put  it  out  for  the 


142  SHERRY 

support  of  the  centre-table.  "  A  real  bed  will  be  a 
novelty,  I  assure  you.  But,"  he  went  on  seriously, 
"  there  is  no  further  cause  for  alarm.  You  are  as  safe 
as  a  bug  in  a  rug.  No  one  will  — " 

"  Thank  you,"  she  broke  in,  her  face  lighting.  "  It 
is  very  good  of  you  to  stay.  I  know  you  will  pardon 
an  old  woman's  whimsey.  I  am  your  debtor  twice 
over,  sir.  Tonight  you  performed  the  lesser  of  two 
deeds  by  which  I  am  the  gainer.  I  might,  perhaps, 
reward  you  for  restoring  my  silver  to  me,  but  not  for 
what  you  did  the  other  day.  You  are  not  only  a  brave 
man  but  a  good  one.  Young  men  in  this  day  and  age 
of  the  world  are  not  given  to  persuasion  of  the  sort 
you  exercised  the  other  morning.  Usually,  I  believe  it 
is  the  other  way  about.  You  are  making  a  fresh  start 
in  life,  and  you  will  need  friends.  You  have  at  least 
one  firm,  sustaining  friend  upon  whom  you  may  call 
at  any  time;  you  will  not  find  her  wanting.  I  forgave 
Morna  the  other  day.  I  hope  you  will  do  the  same." 

"Forgive?"  cried  he,  amazed.  "What  have  I  to 
forgive  in  — " 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Mr.  Redpath,"  broke  in  Morna 
rapidly.  "  I  was  very  rude  that  day  in  front  of  Mr. 
Oilman's.  I  — " 

His  hearty  laugh  brought  a  quick  flush  to  her 
cheeks.  "  Oh,  I  understood  perfectly,  Miss  O'Brien," 
he  said.  "  You  were  peeved.  I  knew  you'd  be  sorry, 
so  I  wasn't  offended, —  not  in  the  least.  Listen ! 
Hear  that?  Your  silver  dollar  is  making  all  that 
noise.  I'm  never  going  to  spend  it,  you  know.  It  is 
my  lucky  piece.  The  corner-stone  of  the  new  house 
of  Redpath.  If  that's  all  I  have  to  forgive,  we'll  — " 


SHERRY  143 

"  I  wasn't  peeved,"  she  objected.  "  I  hate  the  word. 
There  isn't  any  such  word  to  begin  with,  and  —  No, 
I  was  simply  horrid  and  insulting,  because  it's  my  na- 
ture to  be  that  way,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  think 
any  the  worse  of  Granny  because  she  puts  up  with 
me." 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  began  Mrs.  Compton,  trying 
to  smile.  She  failed,  and  her  chin  quivered  despite  the 
resolute  compression  of  her  thin  lips. 

"  I  shall  sleep  on  the  couch  in  your  room,  Granny," 
said  Morna  quickly. 

"  Not  on  my  account,  my  child,"  said  the  mistress 
of  the  house.  "  If  you  are  afraid  to  sleep  in  your  own 
room  you  may  come  to  mine,  not  otherwise." 

"  But  if  you  say  you  are  unnerved,  apprehensive  — " 

"  I  shall  not  be,  my  dear,  with  Mr.  Redpath  in  the 
house.  Now  let  us  be  off  to  bed.  I  will  conduct  you 
to  your  room,  Mr.  Redpath.  We  breakfast  at  eight. 
Say  good  night,  Morna."  She  spoke  to  her  grand- 
daughter in  the  manner  and  tone  of  one  addressing  a 
small  child.  The  habit  was  one  she  had  never  out- 
grown, even  with  her  own  middle-aged  children. 

Morna  favoured  Sherry  with  a  sly  grimace  and  curt- 
seyed quaintly.  "  Good  night,  sir,"  she  murmured. 

In  the  narrow  hallway  upstairs,  Mrs.  Compton  drew 
close  to  the  side  of  her  tall  companion.  She  spoke  in 
low  and  guarded  tones. 

"  My  friend,  the  police  did  not  ask  you  whether  you 
ever  had  seen  either  of  those  burglars  before.  I  sup- 
pose they  took  it  for  granted  that  you  had  not.  I 
ask  you  now." 

He  shook  his  head,  watching  her  covertly  all  the 


144  SHERRY 

time.  Something  told  him  that  his  answer  was  to 
mean  a  great  deal  to  her. 

"  No,  Mrs.  Compton,  I  have  never  seen  either  of 
them  before." 

He  fancied  he  heard  her  draw  a  long  breath.  "  Ev- 
idently they  are  not  what  you  would  call  local  talent, 
—  or  the  police  would  have  known  them." 

"  Undoubtedly.  The  police  in  this  town  are  quite 
up-to-date.  They  would  know  them  if  they  belonged 
here."  He  tried  craftiness.  "  I  was  impressed,  how- 
ever, by  the  big  fellow's  reluctance  to  have  his  face 
washed.  It  struck  me  that  he  feared  some  one  present 
might  be  able  to  recognize  him.  No  .one  recognized 
him,  however,  as  you  know." 

"  This  is  your  room,"  she  said,  stopping  before  a 
door.  "  Mine  is  just  beyond  and  Morna's  is  across  the 
hall."  She  pushed  an  electric  light  button.  "  You 
are  very  good  to  stay.  I  shall  never  forget  all  that 
you  have  done  for  me.  Good  night." 

"  Good  night,  Mrs.  Compton." 

"Good  night,"  she  repeated  absently. 

Standing  before  the  mirror  on  the  square  old  ma- 
hogany bureau  a  few  minutes  later,  divested  of  a  por- 
tion of  his  rumpled  apparel,  he  looked  himself  straight 
in  the  eye  and  said,  half-aloud : 

"  You've  got  more  to  live  down  than  you  thought, 
old  top.  Wanted  to  question  you  at  headquarters, 
did  they?  That  was  an  eye-opener.  You're  looked 
upon  as  a  suspicious  character,  Sherry ;  no  getting 
around  it.  I  wonder  how  I  kept  from  sinking  through 
the  floor." 

Presently  he  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  his 


SHERRY  145 

head  cocked  at  an  angle  of  meditation,  his  eyes  dream- 
ily elevated.  After  a  long  time  he  sighed  profoundly. 
A  tender  smile  lurked  about  his  lips  as  he  laid  himself 
down  to  sleep.  It  had  been  a  great  night. 

He  was  aroused  at  eight  o'clock  by  a  sharp  rapping 
on  the  bedroom  door.  Just  at  that  instant  he  was  in 
the  thick  of  a  dream  in  which  countless  adversaries 
were  shooting  at  him  from  all  conceivable  points.  He 
awoke  to  the  certainty  that  they  were  using  gatling 
guns,  and  it  was  some  time  before  he  could  convince 
himself  that  a  friendly  and  not  a  hostile  hand  was 
behind  the  fusillade. 

"  All  right !  "  he  sang  out. 

"  Get  up,"  came  back  in  Morna's  voice.  "  It's 
eight  o'clock." 

"  I'll  be  down  in  ten  minutes." 

Five  minutes  later  he  stepped  out  of  his  bath  and 
said  to  himself :  "  Except  in  the  middle  of  winter,  Bur- 
ton's Creek  beats  a  porcelain  tub  all  to  smash." 

Before  descending,  he  carefully  restored  to  its  orig- 
inal position  on  the  bed  the  linen  sheet  in  which  he  had 
wrapped  his  long  body  in  lieu  of  the  customary  and 
time-honoured  garment  that  all  proper  gentlemen  slept 
in  up  to  the  introduction  of  pajamas  into  the  Occident. 

Morna  met  him  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Granny's  out  in  the  garden,"  she  said  as  they 
shook  hands.  "  She  has  been  up  since  six  o'clock. 
Do  you  mind  having  breakfast  alone  with  me?  " 

He  pinched  himself.  "  Will  you  be  good  enough  to 
kick  me,  Miss  O'Brien?  That's  what  we  always  did 
at  college  when  we  couldn't  get  a  fellow  up  any  other 
way.  I  must  be  still  asleep.  I'm  dreaming." 


146  SHERRY 

"  Consider  yourself  kicked.  Now,  answer  my  ques- 
tion." 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  mind  having  breakfast  alone 
with  you,"  he  said. 

"  You  don't  appear  to  be  any  the  worse  for  wear," 
she  said,  as  they  walked  down  the  hall  together.  She 
was  studying  his  face  closely  and  in  the  most  matter- 
of-fact  way. 

"  I'm  as  fresh  as  a  new-born  daisy,"  he  announced, 
"  but  as  hungry  as  a  bear." 

"  Granny  didn't  get  a  wink  of  sleep,"  said  she,  her 
brow  clouding.  "  I  left  my  door  open,  so  that  I  could 
hear  her  if  she  called.  When  I  went  to  sleep, —  I 
really  couldn't  help  it  in  spite  of  the  excitement, — 
her  light  was  burning,  and  when  I  awoke  at  four 
o'clock, —  I  thought  I  heard  a  noise  on  the  back  porch 
—  did  you  happen  to  hear  it? —  When  I  awoke 
her  light  was  still  going,  so  I  pounced  out  of  bed  and 
rapped  on  her  door.  She  told  me  to  go  back  to  bed. 
And  now  she's  out  there  fussing  around  the  garden. 
She  says  she  will  not  go  to  the  police  court  this  morn- 
ing. I've  never  seen  her  so  nervous  and  upset." 

"  Pretty  strenuous  night  for  one  as  old  as  she  is, 
Miss  O'Brien,"  said  he.  They  were  seated  opposite 
each  other  at  the  table  in  the  long,  low  dining-room. 
"  In  any  event,  I  don't  see  why  she  should  go  in  for  the 
hearing  of  those  fellows.  It  isn't  necessary.  The  po- 
lice judge  simply  binds  them  over  to  the  Circuit  Court. 
I  can  do  all  the  testifying  that's  required.  As  a  mat- 
ter-of-fact I'm  the  only  eye-witness." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  her  eyes  bent 


SHERRY  147 

thoughtfully  upon  the  plate  in  front  of  her.  His  rapt 
gaze  was  not  employed  in  a  similar  occupation. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said  slowly,  looking  up  at  him 
with  troubled  eyes,  "  I  had  the  queerest  feeling  out  in 
the  kitchen  last  night,  when  the  police  and  those  men 
were  there?  " 

"You  did?"     He  leaned  forward. 

"  Yes.  It  was  absurd,  but  I  —  I  — "  she  lowered 
her  voice  and  glanced  toward  the  door, — "  I  couldn't 
help  feeling  that  my  grandmother  recognized  one  of 
those  men.  Of  course,  she  couldn't  have  known  him, 
but  I  — well,  I—" 

"  Miss  O'Brien,"  he  said,  as  she  hesitated  in  some 
distress,  "  I  am  confident  that  she  recognized  the  larger 
of  the  two  men."  He  was  very  serious.  "  I  don't  un- 
derstand what  it  all  means,  but  there  isn't  the  remot- 
est doubt  that  the  man  knows  her  and  that  she  knows 
him." 

"  I  lay  awake  thinking  about  —  Sh !  She  is  com- 
ing. Don't  for  anything  in  the  world  let  her  suspect 
that  we  — " 

Mrs.  Compton  entered  the  room  at  that  instant. 
Sherry  sprang  to  his  feet  and  went  forward  to  meet 
her.  His  face  was  bright  and  cheery. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  hear  you've 
been  up  for  hours,  a  reproach  to  lazy-bones." 

She  was  quite  calm  and  serene.  He  looked  for  re- 
flections of  inward  perturbation  in  her  sharp  old  eyes, 
and  found  none.  No  doubt,  thought  he,  her  face  was 
always  as  grey  as  it  was  this  morning. 

"  I  did  not  sleep  well,"  she  replied.     "  Pray  sit  down, 


148  SHERRY 

Mr.  Redpath.  I  will  sit  here  with  you.  Has  Morna 
told  you  about  the  telephone  message  from  the  po- 
lice?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  drawing  out  a  chair  for  her.  "  I 
shall  be  happy  to  shoulder  all  the  responsibility  this 
morning,  Mrs.  Compton.  You  will  not  have  to  ap- 
pear." 

"  So  I  told  them,"  she  said  coolly.  "  They  have 
asked  that  you  appear  against  the  men,  however.  I 
am  loath  to  impose  upon  you  — " 

"  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  testify  against 
any  man  who  points  a  revolver  that  is  not  supposed  to 
be  loaded.  Such  a  person  ought  to  be  kept  in  jail  for 
life  on  general  principles,"  said  he.  "  I  daresay  they 
will  both  plead  guilty,"  seeking  to  comfort  her. 
"  Caught  red-handed,  you  know.  You  will  never  see 
either  of  them  again,  Mrs.  Compton." 

She  regarded  him  searchingly.  "  I  may  have  to  ap- 
pear against  them  at  the  final  trial." 

"  I  don't  believe  so." 

"  I  dislike  being  in  court,"  she  explained  briefly. 
He  realized  that  he  would  get  nothing  more  out  of  her. 
"  There  is  something  else  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about, 
Mr.  Redpath.  You  said  last  night  that  you  have 
taken  a  position.  Was  that  the  truth,  or  merely  a  re- 
mark for  the  benefit  of  the  police  officer?  " 

"  Neither.  I  have  had  a  position  offered  me,  Mrs. 
Compton." 

"  I  can  cheerfully  recommend  you,"  said  Morna, 
smiling,  "  as  a  lusty,  obliging  porter.  Don't  fail  to 
call  upon  me  if  you  need  a  reference." 

"  Thanks.     I'm   getting  on   in   the  world,  however. 


SHERRY  149 

Yesterday  I  was  a  day  labourer.  Now  I  am  offered  a 
place  as  private  secretary." 

"  You  would  also  make  a  lusty  secretary,"  said  Mrs. 
Compton,  eyeing  him  strangely.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  she  was  reading  his  mind.  "  You  have  not  yet 
concluded  to  accept  the  place,  I  gather." 

"  I  told  the  gentleman  who  offered  it  to  me  that  I 
would  give  the  matter  consideration  and  let  him  know 
in  a  day  or  two.  I  shall  decide  today." 

"You  will  take  it?" 

"  Nothing  better  is  likely  to  turn  up,  Mrs.  Compton." 

"  And  what  will  be  your  real  duties  as  secretary  to 
Andrew  Gilman?  " 

He  started.  "  How  did  you  guess  it  was  Mr.  Gil- 
man? " 

"  He  is  the  only  man  in  Farragut,  so  far  as  I  know, 
who  would  have  the  shrewdness  and  the  foresight  to 
employ  a  black  sheep  for  night  work." 

"  Ton  my  soul,  Mrs.  Compton !     You  — " 

"  I  know  Andrew  Gilman.  He  does  not  require  the 
services  of  a  secretary  or  a  business  agent.  If  he  lives 
to  be  one  hundred,  he  will  still  manage  to  handle  his 
own  private  affairs  and  look  carefully  after  his  dollars 
and  cents.  He  wants  you  to  live  in  the  house  with 
him,  does  he  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  one  of  the  requirements.  By  Jove, 
you  are  wonderful." 

"  That  is  what  I  meant  by  night  work.  I  am  sorry 
if  I  offended  you  by  using  the  term  *  black  sheep.'  I 
did  not  mean  to  offend.  You  may  be  sure  that  An- 
drew Gilman  would  not  take  you  into  his  house  unless 
he  had  every  confidence  in  your  integrity.  It  is  quite 


150  SHERRY 

a  compliment,  coming  from  him."  There  was  palpable 
irony  in  her  voice.  "  He  believes  in  you, —  as  I  do. 
I  have  heard  n-j  good  word  of  you,  nor  has  he,  I  dare- 
say. You  have  turned  over  a  new  leaf.  Andrew  Gil- 
man  has  read  you  through  and  through.  He  never 
makes  a  mistake.  He  feels  absolutely  safe  in  your 
hands.  You  will  not  rob  him,  nor  abuse  his  trust  in 
you,  nor  resume  your  prodigal  habits,  nor  —  well,  he 
knows  he  has  found  a  man  whom  money  cannot  buy  nor 
vice  reclaim.  You  have  had  all  that  you  want  of  both. 
He  knows  you  are  bound  to  make  a  man  of  yourself. 
Not  another  man  in  town  would  have  considered  you 
worth  the  powder  to  blow  you  up,  but  Andrew  Gilman 
is  smarter  than  all  of  them  put  together.  I  shall  not 
ask  you  to  tell  me  what  your  duties  are  to  be,  nor  what 
he  offers  to  pay  you  in  the  way  of  salary.  Those  are 
matters  between  you  and  him.  I  can  only  say  that  I 
believe  you  will  find  the  position  a  difficult  one.  Do 
not  allow  yourself  to  fall  into  his  ways.  Do  not  be- 
come hard  and  grasping.  He  has  no  friends.  If  you 
do  his  bidding  in  all  particulars,  you  will  lose  the  few 
you  already  have.  I  am  not  trying  to  discourage  you. 
You  are  young  and  you  may  still  have  a  few  illusions. 
Mr.  Gilman  is  old  and  never  had  an  illusion  in  his  life. 
He  may  try  to  dominate  you.  In  that  he  will  fail,  I 
am  more  or  less  convinced.  Pray  pardon  this  gratui- 
tous lecture,  Mr.  Redpath.  I  am  an  old  woman  and, 
like  old  Andy  Gee,  have  no  illusions." 

"  You  have  paid  me  the  highest  sort  of  a  compli- 
ment, Mrs.  Compton,  by  speaking  so  frankly  and  so  un- 
reservedly about  my  humble  affairs.  I  never  really 


SHERRY  151 

knew  Mr.  Oilman  until  last  night.  I  dined  with  him. 
He  was  charming,  friendly  — " 

"  Did  Mrs.  Gilman  dine  with  you?  "  she  broke  in. 

"  No.  I  understand  she  is  an  invalid.  She  hasn't 
been  downstairs  to  a  meal  in  a  great  many  years." 

"  A  great  many  years,"  repeated  Mrs.  Compton,  al- 
most inaudibly.  A  faint  purplish  hue  appeared  on  her 
brow  and  temples.  "  So  Andy  Gee  was  charming,  was 
he  ? "  she  went  on,  recovering  herself.  "  Well,  he 
knows  how  to  be.  I  knew  him  fifty  years  ago.  He 
used  to  come  to  my  father's  house  long  before  I  was 
married.  He  came  to  see  my  sister.  It  may  interest 
you  to  hear,  Mr.  Redpath,  that  the  invalid  who  never 
comes  down  to  her  meals  is  my  eldest  sister." 

There  was  a  moment  of  utter  silence  in  the  room. 
Morna  was  gazing  blankly  at  her  grandmother. 

"  I  didn't  know,  of  course,  Mrs.  Compton,"  said 
Sherry.  There  was  no  reason  for  him  to  be  surprised 
by  this  statement  of  hers,  and  yet  he  experienced  an  un- 
accountable shock. 

"Your  sister,  Granny?"  cried  Morna,  still  staring. 
"Old  Mr.  Gilman's  wife?  Why,  I  never  knew, —  you 
have  never  mentioned  — " 

"  You  never  knew,  my  dear,  because  the  subject  is 
one  that  has  not  come  up  in  this  family  during  your 
lifetime."  Something  in  her  manner  checked  the  ques- 
tion that  flew  to  Morna's  lips.  "  I  fear,  Mr.  Red- 
path,"  went  on  Mrs.  Compton,  glancing  at  the  tall  old 
clock  in  the  corner,  "  that  you  will  have  to  be  off 
shortly.  The  car  will  take  you  to  town."  She  arose 
from  the  table.  "  You  have  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes 


152  SHERRY 

to  spare,  however,"  smilingly,  "  so  pray  do  not  gulp 
your  coffee." 

She  turned  at  the  door  and  said,  almost  shyly: 
"  And  please  remember  that  it  will  not  be  necessary  for 
you  to  sleep  in  the  woods  again.  My  house  is  open  to 
you  from  this  day  on.  Come  to  us  tonight  in  case 
you  do  not  find  a  better  place  to  lodge." 


CHAPTER  XH 

ON  the  morning  of  the  third  day  after  the  rob- 
bery at  Mrs.  Compton's,  Sheridan  Redpath 
entered  the  First  National  Bank  and  walked 
up  to  the  receiving  teller's  cage.  He  deposited,  in 
checks  and  currency,  nearly  four  thousand  dollars  to 
the  credit  of  Andrew  Gilman.  The  teller,  who  knew 
him  by  sight  and  reputation,  blinked  his  eyes  a  little 
more  rapidly  than  was  his  wont, —  he  had  a  habit  of 
"  batting  "  them  with  great  frequency  because  of  the 
nervous  dread  that  he  might  some  day  be  taken  in  by 
a  counterfeit  bill.  What  on  earth  did  this  mean? 
Had  old  Andy  Gee  gone  stark,  staring  crazy?  A 
member  of  the  board  of  directors  he  was,  too ! 

"  Morning,  Mr.  Cole,"  greeted  Sherry  cheerily. 
"  My  name  is  Redpath.  I  used  to  be  a  member  of 
your  Sunday  school  class.  You  may  remember  seeing 
me  occasionally,  just  about  Christmas  time,  a  good 
many  years  ago." 

"  Ahem !  Quite  so.  You  were  much  smaller,  if  I 
am  not  mistaken.  Ahem!  Er  —  pleasant  day,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Very.  Thank  you.  Good  morning,"  and  out 
strode  the  cause  of  the  first  shock  that  Mr.  Cole's  smug 
serenity  had  sustained  since  the  historic  raise  in  salary 
twelve  years  before. 

Over  in  the  lobby  of  the  Tremont,  old  Judge  Em- 
mons  fanned  himself  with  a  broad  palmetto  leaf,  and 

153 


154  SHERRY 

dwelt  profoundly  upon  a  bit  of  news  that  had  reached 
his  ears  that  very  morning  while  he  was  at  breakfast. 
He  had  as  an  audience  four  gentlemen  of  Farragut, 
not  one  of  whom  could  hold  a  candle  to  him  in  the 
matter  of  antiquity,  and  yet  the  youngest  of  them 
boasted  of  feeling  fine  at  seventy-two. 

It  is  worthy  of  mention  that  none  of  these  chair- 
warmers  was  a  paying  patron  of  the  Tremont.  They 
merely  occupied  chairs  there.  The  lobby  of  the  Tre- 
mont was  a  cool  spot  in  hot  weather,  and  a  warm  re- 
treat in  the  dead  of  winter.  Years  ago,  before  the  ac- 
cursed cuspidors  took  the  place  of  sand-boxes,  these 
same  gentlemen  of  Farragut  had  formed  the  habit  of 
making  themselves  at  home  in  the  most  conspicuous 
corner  of  the  hotel  office,  and  they  had  been  at  it  ever 
since.  Latterly,  however,  they  were  obliged  to  confess 
that  they  couldn't  feel  as  much  at  home  there  as  in  the 
good  old  days,  because  of  a  silly  rule  about  not  spit- 
ting on  the  floor.  Indeed,  they  maintained,  the  Tre- 
mont was  rapidly  losing  the  atmosphere  that  had  made 
it  one  of  the  most  noted  hostelries  in  the  Middle  West. 
It  was  degenerating  into  what  the  ignorant  were 
pleased  to  call  a  first  class  house.  Ever  since  the  new 
management  ripped  up  the  historic  oak  floor  and  put 
down  this  confounded  crazy-quilt  tile,  the  place,  ac- 
cording to  the  oldest  citizen,  was  deprived  of  its  real 
flavour.  It  was  no  longer  a  haven  of  comfort  and  con- 
geniality. 

These  new-fangled,  New  York  ideas  were  running 
the  good  old  Tremont  into  the  ground.  The  anti- 
quated plush  settees  and  chairs, —  good  enough  for  the 
men  who  had  made  the  town  what  it  was, —  were  a  long 


SHERRY  155 

sight  more  attractive  to  the  eye  and  infinitely  more 
fitting  to  the  flesh  than  the  slippery,  high-armed  con- 
traptions now  in  use.  A  man  couldn't  throw  his  leg 
over  the  arm  of  one  of  these  chairs  to  save  his  life. 
As  a  result,  gentlemen  who  always  had  looked  comfort- 
ably at  home  in  the  lobby  of  the  Tremont,  now  ap- 
peared to  be  about  as  much  at  ease  as  a  person  wait- 
ing in  a  railway  station  for  a  train  to  come  along  and 
take  him  away.  "  Might  just  as  well  be  a  woman,"  de- 
clared Judge  Emmons,  putting  the  concrete  estimate 
upon  the  practicability  of  the  new  chairs  in  the  Tre- 
mont. 

The  judge's  news  was  forty-eight  hours  old,  but,  as 
he  was  nearly  ninety  years  older  than  the  topic,  it  is 
not  surprising  that  he  was  a  bit  slack  in  getting 
around  to  it. 

"  And  what's  more,"  he  was  saying,  shrilly,  "  Andy 
Gilman  ain't  as  rich  as  people  think  he  is  anyhow. 
He  ain't  John  D.  Rockefeller,  not  by  a  long  shot !  He 
ain't  even  Andrew  Ca.rneegy.  Men  as  rich  as  they  are 
can  afford  to  take  chances  on  losing  a  million  or  two. 
But  he  can't.  Now  you  take  this  young  feller  we've 
been  talking  about.  He  — " 

"  Nobody's  been  talkin'  about  him  but  you,  Judge," 
broke  in  old  Mr.  Meggs.  "  Don't  drag  me  into  it." 

The  judge  affected  deafness  at  such  times  as  this. 
"He  ain't  seen  a  sober  day  since  —  since  when,  Ben? 
Never  mind.  It  don't  make  any  difference.  Now  you 
put  a  feller  like  that  in  a  position  where  he  can  lay  his 
hands  on  a  lot  of  money  and  —  Well,  all  I've  got  to 
say  is,  it's  risky.  This  town  is  full  of  upright,  self- 
respecting  young  men,  just  achin'  for  a  chance  to  ge,t 


156  SHERRY 

ahead  in  the  world,  and  what  does  old  Andy  Gilman 
do?  What  does  he  do?  Well,  sir,  he  ignores  'em, 
turns  his  back  on  'em,  and  hires  this  good-for-nothin' 
scamp  of  a  Redpath.  For  instance,  take  my  grandson, 
George  Belknap's  boy, —  the  one  that's  been  working 
in  Fisher's  insurance  office, —  now,  there's  as  fine  a  lad 
as  there  is  in  the  whole  United  States  of  America. 
You  could  trust  him  with  a  million  dollars  in  gold, 
right  in  his  pockets,  and,  begad,  you  could  count  it 
every  night  and  you  wouldn't  find  a  nickel  of  it  missing 
from  one  year's  end  to  the  other.  Teaches  a  Sunday 
school  class  and  acts  out  Santa  Claus  every  Christmas 
Eve.  They  say  there  ain't  been  a  better  Santa  Claus 
in  a  coon's  age.  Deportment  first-class,  honest  as  the 
day  is  long,  high-school  education, —  thank  God,  he 
was  spared  from  college !  —  and  wanting  to  get  mar- 
ried the  worst  way  and  can't  because  the  insurance  busi- 
ness is  so  derned  bad  he  can't  more  than  make  his  own 
salt.  Just  the  boy  for  Andy  Gilman.  I  hope  to  God 
this  feller  he's  hired  gets  away  with  some  of  Andy's 
money.  Serve  him  right.  He  — " 

"  They  say  he's  been  layin'  around  drunk  up  in 
Compton's  Woods  for  nearly  a  week,"  said  Mr.  Meggs, 
unable  to  hold  in  any  longer.  "  Rip  snortin'  drunk." 

"Who?  Andy  Gilman?"  snapped  Judge  Emmons. 
"  He  don't  drink,  sir,  and  you  know  it." 

"  Too  stingy,"  observed  Col.  Barker  sententiously. 

"  Livin'  like  a  hog,"  went  on  Mr.  Meggs.  "  I 
haven't  anything  against  drink  in  moderation,  and  I 
never  say  a  word  against  a  man  who  once  in  a  while 
gets  a  leetle  too  much  aboard,  but  this  thing  of  soakin* 
up  all  the  liquor  in  — " 


SHERRY  157 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  put  in  Judge  Emmons,  "  Andy 
Gilraan  has  done  enough  harm  to  this  town  without 
insultin'  it  to  boot.  Look  at  it  any  way  you  want  to, 
it's  an  insult  to  the  decent,  law-abidin',  ambitious 
young  men  of  this  town  to  give  a  job  to  — " 

"  What  does  he  pay  this  Redpath  boy  ?  "  demanded 
Col.  Barker,  ever  practical. 

"  Pay  him?  "  snorted  Mr.  Meggs.  "  He  never  paid 
decent  wages  to  anybody.  A  decent,  self-respecting 
man  wouldn't  work  for  the  wages  he  pays.  That's  why 
he  hires  this  rum-soaked  loafer.  In  some  ways  it's  an 
outrage  to  impose  on  a  feller  like  that.  Too  tight  to 
know  what  he's  doin',  so  old  Andy  Gee  takes  advan- 
tage of  him." 

"  What's  this  I  see  in  the  paper  yesterday  about 
him  capturing  a  couple  of  burglars  out  in  the  coun- 
try the  other  night  ?  "  inquired  Amos  P.  Adams,  after 
missing  the  cuspidor. 

"  Probably  in  cahoots  with  them,"  responded  Mr. 
Meggs,  promptly.  "  Betrayed  'em  at  the  last  minute 
for  the  reward.  Beats  the  devil  what  a  man  will  do 
for  money  when  his  system  craves  liquor  like  that.  Be- 
tray his  own  mother,  and  never  bat  an  eye." 

"  Papers  spoke  pretty  highly  of  him,  however. 
"  Didn't  look  to  me  like  a  put  up  job." 

"  You  don't  suppose  he'd  allow  it  to  look  like  a  put 
up  job,  do  you?  All  done  for  effect  on  Andy  Gilman. 
He—" 

"  Gentlemen,"  interrupted  a  brisk,  persuasive  voice, 
"  if  you  will  step  into  the  bar  and  have  a  drink  with 
me,  the  porters  will  clean  up  here  a  bit  during  your 
absence,  and  —  be  careful,  Judge!  Don't  try  to  be 


158  SHERRY 

too  spry.  Let  me  help  you.  First  door  to  your  left, 
gentlemen." 

The  speaker  was  the  manager  of  the  hotel.  He  al- 
ways approached  the  group  at  this  hour  of  the  day, 
and  always  his  interruption  took  the  form  of  a  polite, 
even  obsequious  invitation.  A  rare  sense  of  delicacy 
ordered  him,  on  all  occasions,  to  signify  the  "  first 
door  to  your  left,"  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  any 
one  of  the  old  men  could  have  closed  his  eyes  and 
backed  into  the  bar-room  without  even  so  much  as 
touching  the  door-jamb  with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat. 

Even  the  hard-headed,  progressive  new  management 
of  the  Tremont  hesitated  about  improving  the  lobby  of 
the  hotel  by  anything  so  drastic  as  the  complete  erad- 
ication of  this  coterie  of  ancient  loafers.  They  repre- 
sented tradition,  and  so  they  were  coddled  and  toler- 
ated at  the  expense  of  convenience. 

The  second  day  after  the  attempted  robbery,  and 
but  one  after  the  preliminary  hearing  of  the  two  burg- 
lars, Andrew  Gilman  sent  an  "  item "  to  the  news- 
papers. It  was  brief  and  to  the  effect  that  Sheridan 
Redpath,  son  of  the  late  Robert  W.  Redpath,  had  ac- 
cepted a  position  as  private  secretary  with  Mr.  An- 
drew Gilman  and  would  enter  upon  his  duties  at  once. 
The  city  gave  a  convulsive  gasp.  No  two  characters 
within  its  gates  were  more  widely  known  than  Andy 
Gee  and  Sherry  Redpath;  they  personified  the  infinite 
in  extremes :  the  miser  and  prodigal. 

The  grandfathers  in  the  lobby  of  the  Tremont  voiced 
the  sentiments  of  every  intelligent  man,  woman  and 
child  in  Farragut  when  they  put  the  blame  for  this 
social  earthquake  upon  the  head  of  Andrew  Gilman. 


SHERRY  159 

From  one  end  of  the  town  to  the  other  extended  a 
pleased,  if  stealthy  grin,  and  back  of  that  grin  re- 
posed the  joyous  conviction  that  when  the  wastrel  got 
through  with  the  miser  "  there  wouldn't  be  enough  left 
of  him  to  justify  the  bother  of  digging  a  grave  for  him 
in  the  potter's  field."  No  one  blamed  Sherry  Red- 
path  for  taking  the  job.  Indeed,  there  was  a  subtle 
wave  of  sympathy  for  him,  which  grew  apace  as  the 
full  significance  of  the  situation  developed  under  dis- 
cussion. 

Soon  it  was  being  said  that  old  Andy  Gee  ought  to 
be  tarred  and  feathered  for  putting  temptation  in  the 
poor  wretch's  way ! 

People  began  to  look  far  ahead,  and  as  they  looked 
their  hatred  of  Andrew  Gilman  increased.  It  would 
be  just  like  the  old  man  to  prosecute  the  boy  after 
virtually  inviting  him  to  become  a  thief.  One  citizen 
went  so  far  as  to  prophesy,  in  the  Sunbeam,  that  they 
never  could  "  get  a  jury  in  God's  world  "  that  would 
convict  Sherry  Redpath  under  the  circumstances ! 
The  whole  city,  it  must  be  assumed,  took  it  for  granted 
that  Andrew  Gilman  was  at  last  about  to  get  what  was 
coming  to  him;  no  one,  in  the  general  excitement, 
stopped  to  consider  that  young  Redpath,  despite  his 
other  faults,  was  absolutely  honest! 

It  is  not  necessary  to  turn  back  to  events  that  fol- 
lowed close  upon  the  capture  of  the  burglars.  Red- 
path  appeared  against  the  two  house-breakers  at  the 
preliminary  hearing.  On  his  evidence  alone  they  were 
bound  over  to  the  grand  jury,  both  waiving  examina- 
tion. As  he  sat  in  the  police  court-room,  waiting  for 
the  appearance  of  the  judge,  he  studied  the  face  of  the 


160  SHERRY 

larger  of  the  two  men,  searching  for  something  in  his 
features  that  might  throw  light  upon  the  strange  be- 
haviour of  Mrs.  Compton.  A  close,  careful  scrutiny 
might  refresh  his  own  memory;  it  was  not  altogether 
improbable  that  he  too  had  seen  the  man  before,  back 
in  childhood  days. 

From  time  to  time  the  fellow  turned  a  cold,  unwav- 
ering eye  upon  him,  and  he  almost  fancied  that  there 
was  mockery  in  the  glance.  One  side  of  the  prisoner's 
head  was  bandaged,  and  he  was  unshaven.  His  gar- 
ments, rough  and  of  the  cheapest  quality,  were  ill-fit- 
ting, yet  he  had  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  accustomed 
to  good  clothes-  The  contrast  between  him  and  the 
smaller  thief  was  remarkable.  The  latter  was  plainly, 
unmistakably  a  "  crook  "  of  the  commonest  type,  mor- 
ally and  intellectually. 

They  listened  to  Redpath's  brief  account  of  the  ad- 
venture without  emotion.  The  big  man  did  not  take 
his  eye  from  the  face  of  the  witness;  the  little  one  sat 
with  his  chin  on  his  breast,  afraid  to  look  up,  They 
gave  their  names  as  George  Smith  and  John  Brown, 
and  as  such  they  were  docketed. 

George  Smith  was  a  man  of  forty-five.  His  hair 
was  slightly  touched  with  white,  and  his  face  was 
deeply  lined:  a  hard,  immobile  face  that  denoted  force, 
reserve,  and  incalculable  cunning.  Redpath  had  never 
looked  upon  a  more  impassive  countenance,  and  yet  he 
was  tremendously  impressed  by  its  power ;  understand- 
ing and  intelligence  lurked  beneath  this  sinister  mask. 
Save  for  the  occasional  mocking, —  even  confident !  — 
glance  that  he  bestowed  upon  the  witness,  his  face  was 
as  cold  and  imperturbable  as  that  of  the  Sphinx. 


SHERRY  161 

Sherry  finally  awoke  to  the  fact, —  strangely  un- 
pleasant it  was  too, —  that  a  deep  significance  marked 
the  attitude  of  George  Smith  toward  him.  He  discov- 
ered that  he  alone  was  favoured  with  these  singular 
glances.  The  police,  the  prosecutor  and  even  the 
judge  came  in  for  the  cold,  fixed  stare  of  one  who  hates 
and  does  not  fear.  There  was  something  disturbingly 
personal  in  all  this.  The  fellow  had  made  the  threat 
the  night  before  that  he  would  "  get  him."  There  was 
nothing  in  his  manner  today  to  indicate  venom  or  a  de- 
sire for  reprisal.  On  the  contrary,  he  appeared  to  be 
making  a  confidant  of  his  accuser !  To  him  alone  was 
conveyed,  in  that  mocking  glance,  the  message  that 
nothing, —  absolutely  nothing, —  could  come  of  all  this 
pother!  And  all  this  despite  the  very  damaging,  un- 
impeachable testimony  that  the  young  man  gave 
against  him. 

It  was  most  extraordinary.  The  man  seemed  to  be 
saying  to  him :  "  You  and  I  know  they'll  never  get 
me  for  this,  so  let  them  go  on  deluding  themselves.  It's 
a  pleasure  to  watch  the  dam'  fools,  isn't  it?  " 

They  were  bound  over  in  the  sum  of  two  thousand 
dollars  each  to  await  trial  at  the  September  term  of  the 
Circuit  Court.  Redpath  left  the  court-house  in  a  de- 
cidedly uneasy  frame  of  mind.  He  was  conscious  of  a 
strange  depression.  The  conduct  of  George  Smith  not 
only  puzzled,  it  alarmed  him.  What  was  back  of  it 
all? 

Erect,  bright-eyed,  confident  in  his  physical  and 
mental  elevation,  the  erstwhile  town  disgrace  strode 
up  Main  Street,  boldly  headed  for  the  Tremont.  The 
morning  newspaper  had  "  double-leaded  "  portions  of 


162  SHERRY 

the  story  of  his  adventure  with  the  two  burglars,  un- 
der scare  head-lines,  and  by  this  time  the  city  was 
awake  to  the  new  sensation. 

Men  and  women  who  formerly  had  avoided  him  in 
the  streets,  or  at  best  looked  the  other  way  when  they 
encountered  him,  now  frankly  stared  —  and  were  re- 
warded by  what  they  saw.  They  could  hardly  believe 
their  eyes.  Could  such  a  miraculous  transformation 
have  taken  place  over  night,  so  to  speak?  It  seemed 
but  yesterday  that  he  was  a  blear-eyed,  shuffling  figure, 
dodging  in  and  out  of  questionable  places,  headed  hell- 
ward  as  fast  as  the  devil  could  drive  him,  a  night-farer 
who  had  no  love  for  the  light  of  day  that  shamed  him. 
No  wonder  they  stared  and  then  discredited  their  eyes. 
Without  exception,  every  head  was  turned  for  a  second 
glance  over  the  shoulder,  and  not  a  few  were  the  col- 
lisions that  resulted. 

(Particularly  unhappy  was  the  head-on  bumping  of 
Mrs.  Dr.  Blake  and  the  wife  of  the  Methodist  minister. 
Under  ordinary  conditions  it  was  extremely  difficult  — 
some  said  impossible  —  for  these  two  women  to  see 
each  other;  when  by  chance  they  happened  to  come 
into  contact  at  "  social  functions  "  a  stony  silence  fell 
upon  two  otherwise  loquacious  ladies.  For  five  years 
they  had  kept  their  skirts  clear  of  each  other.  Now 
they  came  together  with  shocking  force.  The  silence 
of  five  years  was  rent  and  splintered  as  by  a  bolt  of 
lightning.  They  gave  vent  .to  a  great  many  utter- 
ances that  had  been  accumulating, —  many  of  them  in 
unison, —  and  then,  having  set  their  hats  aright,  went 
their  separate  ways,  sniffing  the  soft  August  air  with 


SHERRY  163 

an  eagerness  that  suggested  the  hope  that  distance 
would  fumigate  it  considerably.) 

Redpath  entered  the  Tremont.  He  waved  a  genial 
greeting  to  the  clerk  behind  the  desk,  smiled  sweetly 
upon  the  young  lady  at  the  news-stand, —  (causing 
her  to  tremble  delightedly,  he  was  such  a  good-looking 
fellow,  you  know), —  and  strode  briskly  into  the  bar- 
ber shop. 

Six  barbers  looked  up  from  their  recumbent  victims. 
A  barber  invariably  looks  up  when  a  newcomer  enters 
the  shop,  no  matter  where  his  razor  may  be  engaged. 
On  this  occasion  the  combined  stare  of  six  shavers  re- 
mained fixed  until  the  customer,  after  handing  his  hat 
to  the  brush-boy,  dropped  into  a  carefully  selected  seat 
under  the  revolving  fan.  Then  six  barbers  leaned  over 
and  whispered,  whereupon  the  occupants  of  six  chairs, 
converting  themselves  into  cortortionists,  managed  to 
obtain  a  somewhat  unsatisfactory  view  of  the  astonish- 
ing Mr.  Redpath. 

Three  of  them  called  out  "  halloa,"  as  if  they  were 
glad  to  see  him,  even  under  exasperating  circumstances, 
and  one  other  added :  "  Some  little  old  Sherlock, 
eh?" 

Then  ensued  a  race  in  which  six  barbers  frantically 
strove  to  "  finish  his  man  "  ahead  of  the  rest,  so  that 
he  could  call  "  next  "  to  the  most  interesting  citizen 
of  Farragut.  Growls  from  the  present  occupants  of 
chairs  met  with  scant  consideration.  The  head  barber 
finished  his  man  in  triumph,  elevating  him  to  a  sitting 
posture  with  such  decision  that  a  sharp,  explosive 
grunt  followed  the  jolt. 


164  SHERRY 

"  What  the  — "  began  the  angry  customer. 

"  Next ! "  called  out  the  head  barber,  thrusting  a 
celluloid  check  into  his  late  customer's  hand,  and  bow- 
ing graciously  to  his  successor. 

"  Shave,  Mr.  Redpath?  "  he  inquired,  fondly. 

"  Once  over,"  was  the  brief  response. 

"  Nice  day,"  volunteered  the  latherer,  feelingly. 

"  Umph,"  said  Sherry. 

Later  on:     "  Hair-cut,  Mr.  Redpath?  " 

"  Take  a  little  off,  Otto." 

"  Need  rain  badly,  though." 

"  Badly."  This  was  disheartening.  Otto  seemed 
to  have  grave  difficulty  in  getting  his  customary  conver- 
sational impetus. 

"  Sea-foam,  Mr.  Redpath?  "  he  inquired,  later  on, 
clearly  beaten. 

"  Dry  shampoo,  Otto,"  said  Mr.  Redpath,  luxu- 
riously. 

"  I  hear  you  got  a  job,"  ventured  Otto  resolutely, 
but  as  if  he  doubted  it. 

"That's  so?     Where?" 

"  Haven't  you  been  doin'  some  work  for  old  man 
Oilman?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  It  was  so  long  ago  I'd  forgotten  it. 
Masonic  work." 

"Pay  well?" 

"  Fairly.  I  can  afford  a  shampoo  if  that's  what  you 
mean.  Go  ahead,  Otto." 

Presently :  "  I  see  your  name  in  the  paper  this 
morning." 

"Yes?" 

"  Yes." 


SHERRY  165 

Ordinarily  Otto  was  a  most  persevering  conversa- 
tionalist. His  tongue  seemed  to  be  tied  this  morning, 
however.  He  wanted  to  say  a  thousand  things  and 
couldn't,  for  the  life  of  him,  understand  his  own  back- 
wardness. He  made  another  effort,  conscious  that  the 
whole  shop  was  listening. 

"  If  we  could  just  get  a  little  rain  it  would  make  a 
lot  of  difference,"  he  said. 

"  Cool  things  off,"  agreed  Sherry. 

"Certainly  would.     Neck  shaved?" 

"  You  know  I  don't  have  my  neck  shaved." 

"That's  right."  After  long  reflection:  "Yes,  a 
little  rain  certainly  would  do  a  lot  of  good." 

"  Cool  things  off,"  said  Sherry,  absently.  He  was 
thinking  of  a  recent  early-morning  thunder-shower. 

"  Certainly  would,"  said  Otto,  helplessly. 

Out  in  the  hotel  lobby,  Sherry  found  several  men 
waiting  for  him.  They  surrounded  him,  slapped  him 
on  the  back  and  jointly  and  severally  invited  him  to 
have  a  drink. 

"  No,  thanks,"  he  protested,  smilingly.  "  I'm  not 
drinking." 

"  Aw,  come  off !     What  are  you  givin'  us  ?     We  — " 

"  I've  cut  it  all  out,  gentlemen.     Never  again." 

"  Just  have  a  little  one,  Sherry,"  insisted  a  man  who 
had  declared  a  hundred  times  in  the  past  that  any  one 
who  bought  a  drink  for  Sherry  Redpath  ought  to  be 
run  out  of  town.  "  A  little  one  won't  hurt  you.  I'm 
old  enough  to  be  your  father.  I  wouldn't  ask  you  to 
have  a  drink  if  I  thought  it  would  — " 

"  If  it's  just  the  same  to  you,  Mr.  Simons,"  said 
Sherry  coldly,  "  I  think  I'll  stick  to  my  resolution." 


166  SHERRY 

"  A  glass  of  beer,  Sherry,  on  a  hot  day  like  this,'* 
began  another. 

"  We  got  to  do  something  to  show  you  how  proud 
we  are  about  that  little  fracas  of  yours  last  night," 
said  a  third,  grasping  the  young  man's  arm.  "  You 
are  the  man  of  the  hour.  We  all  — " 

"  Sorry,  gentlemen,"  said  Redpath,  stiffening. 
"  You  will  have  to  excuse  me.  Good  day."  He 
walked  away,  leaving  them  staring  after  him  somewhat 
indignantly. 

"  He  won't  stick  to  it  a  week,  the  poor  nut,"  said 
the  youngest  man  in  the  group. 

"  A  week?  "  snorted  Mr.  Simons.  "  Why,  he's  been 
drinking  this  morning.  That  wasn't  bay  rum  you 
smelt  on  him,  Billy.  It  was  booze.  He'll  be  soaked 
to  the  gills  before  twelve  o'clock." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THESE  men  were  representative,  self-respect- 
ing  citizens    of   Farragut.     As   a   matter   of 
principle,  they  would  not  have  suggested   a 
drink  to  him  a  fortnight  ago  for  anything  in  the  world. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  hotel,  Sherry  encountered  an 
old  friend,  no  other  than  Patsy  Burke,  the  barkeeper 
at  the  Sunbeam. 

"  I  heard  you  was  in  here,"  said  Patsy,  eyeing  the 
young  man  critically,  "  so  I  thought  I'd  skip  over  and 
say  hello.  You  look  fine.  Fresh  as  a  daisy.  I  been 
tellin'  'em  you  meant  it.  No  one  believed  you  could 
do  it.  Lord,  man,  I'm  glad  to  see  the  white  of  yer 
eyes.  For  a  few  days  I  worried  meself  sick  over  you. 
I  kept  sayin'  to  the  old  lady  if  you  could  only  stave 
it  off  for  a  week  you'd  be  as  safe  as  a  man  in  the  pen- 
itentiary for  life.  Would  you  believe  it,  my  old  lady 
puts  in  a  word  for  you  in  her  prayers  every  blessed 
day.  She's  a  dam'  fine  woman,  if  I  do  say  it  as 
shouldn't, —  seein'  as  she's  a  bartender's  wife  and  all 
that, —  and  she  has  a  heart  of  gold.  'Twas  she  that 
sent  the  grub  up  by  Barney  Doyle.  I  only  did  her 
biddin'." 

Passersby,  seeing  the  two  in  close,  earnest  conver- 
sation of  the  most  intimate  nature,  and  being  denied 
the  privilege  of  hearing  what  they  had  to  say  to  each 
other,  at  once  leaped  to  a  natural  and  obvious  conclu- 
sion. What  else  could  they  be  talking  about? 

107 


168  SHERRY 

Mrs.  Compton's  automobile  was  standing  at  the  curb 
just  beyond  the  entrance  to  the  hotel.  After  shaking 
hands  again  with  the  beaming  Patsy,  Redpath, —  to 
the  utter  amazement  of  the  occupants  of  various  shop- 
windows  as  well  as  certain  pedestrians  who  had  paused 
with  apparent  unconcern  in  close  proximity  to  the  two 
men,  stepped  into  the  tonneau  of  the  car  and  was 
whisked  swiftly  out  of  sight. 

Before  noon  a  report  gained  wide  circulation  that 
young  Redpath  had  rented  a  second-hand  Packard, 
1908  model,  and  was  starting  out  to  "  tear  the  town 
wide  open  "  on  the  money  borrowed  from  hero-worship- 
ping citizens  in  the  lobby  of  the  Tremont. 

The  reporter  for  the  Evening  News,  in  describing 
the  trial  and  the  incidents  leading  up  to  it,  spoke  of 
"  our  completely  rejuvenated  young  fellow-townsman, 
Sheridan  Redpath,"  and  had  a  sorry  session  with  the 
managing  editor,  who  advised  him  to  look  in  the  dic- 
tionary for  the  definition  of  the  two  words:  rejuvenate 
and  regenerate. 

The  object  of  all  this  interest,  instead  of  tearing  the 
town  wide  open,  travelled  swiftly  and  as  directly  as  the 
old  turnpike  would  permit  to  the  scene  of  the  late  ad- 
venture. He  had  promised  Mrs.  Compton, —  at  the 
earnest  solicitation  of  Miss  O'Brien, —  to  return  with 
a  full  account  of  the  hearing.  He  found  the  latter 
very  deeply  interested  in  the  proceedings ;  the  former 
was  singularly  indifferent,  even  distrait.  After  the 
midday  dinner,  he  announced  his  intention  to  spend  the 
afternoon  in  Compton's  \Voods,  where  he  could  reflect 
seriously  upon  the  proposition  of  Mr.  Andrew  Gilman. 

'*  I  have  been  thinking  it  over,  Mr.  Redpath,"  said 


SHERRY  169 

Mrs.  Compton,  as  the  three  of  them  stood  on  the 
porch.  "  I  do  not  like  my  brother-in-law,  but  I  be- 
lieve you  will  do  well  to  accept  the  place  he  offers.  It 
will  go  far  toward  re-establishing  you  in  the  eyes  of 
the  doubters.  My  antipathy  is  personal.  If  you 
serve  him  well  and  faithfully,  he  will  repay  you  with  in- 
terest. I  will  say  that  much  for  Andrew  Gilman." 

Morna  walked  with  him  down  the  hedge-lined  lane 
to  the  big  gate.  His  heart  was  light,  and  there  were 
moments, —  as  when  she  looked  straight  into  his  eyes, 
—  when  he  was  absolutely  certain  that  his  head  was 
light  as  well.  It  pleased  him  vastly  to  feel  that  she 
had,  in  a  sense,  taken  him  under  her  wing,  and  that 
she  was  disposed  to  order  his  immediate  future  in  a 
somewhat  direct  and  arbitrary  manner.  She  was  very 
cool  and  confident  about  it,  and  he  was  surprisingly 
meek  and  acquiescent. 

For  example,  she  made  it  quite  impossible  for  him 
to  ever  touch  another  drop  of  alcoholic  liquor  by  de- 
claring that  she  would  never  speak  to  him  again  if  he 
did,  and  she  said  she  liked  men  who  smoked  cigars  or  a 
pipe  because,  really,  cigarettes  were  only  fit  for  women. 
(She  enjoyed  one  herself  on  the  sly,  she  admitted  — 
having  gone  to  school  in  Paris.)  And  she  had  a  great 
deal  to  say  about  the  danger  of  sleeping  out  in  the 
damp,  miasmic  woods, —  the  dew  was  likely  to  be  very 
heavy ;  there  were  poisonous  spiders,  typhoidish  mos- 
quitoes and  bats,  to  say  nothing  of  crawly  things. 

He  shivered  inwardly,  but  not  with  dread;  it  was  a 
shiver  of  pure  delight.  All  the  while  he  watched  her 
sprightly,  adorable  face  and  marvelled.  Could  this  be 
he,  Sherry  Redpath,  ne'er-do-well,  shunned  by  all  the 


170  SHERRY 

decent  people  in  Farragut, —  could  this  be  he  indeed  ? 
If  it  were  he  in  truth,  then  life  was  certainly  worth 
living,  and  living  right.  If  being  decent  and  respect- 
able and  clean  of  mind  and  body  brought  this  sort  of 
thing  into  a  fellow's  life,  then  nothing  on  earth  could 
induce  him  to  be  anything  else  from  this  day  forth. 
He  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  all  that  he  might  have 
missed  if  he  had  not  spent  his  last  dime  and  taken  his 
last  drink  on  that  day  in  the  now  glorified  Sunbeam. 
And  now  he  understood  why  he  had  never  really  cared 
for  girls !  He  had  never  seen  one  before !  Now  that 
his  eyes  were  full  of  one,  he  couldn't  see  anything  else. 
It  was  all  quite  wonderful, —  provided,  of  course,  this 
really  was  he. 

There  was  a  fly  in  the  ointment,  however.  Morna, 
—  (he  kept  on  caressing  the  name), —  Morna  was 
much  too  cool  and  matter-of-fact.  Her  manner  gave 
him  no  hint  that  she  too  was  indulging  in  delightful  in- 
ward shivers.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  quite  evident 
that  she  was  interested  in  him  only  because  her  grand- 
mother had  taken  a  fancy  to  him. 

Her  deep,  violet  eyes  regarded  him  with  the  most  im- 
personal, yet  serious  interest.  (How  had  he  failed  to 
grasp  the  full  effect  of  their  loveliness  on  that  first  en- 
gaging day?)  They  peered  up  into  his  from  the  shad- 
ows of  a  cavern-like  sun-bonnet.  He  always  had 
thought  of  sun-bonnets  as  abominations  affected  by 
rural  old  maids  who  cherished  the  notion  that  they  still 
had  complexions.  Henceforth  he  would  have  no  such 
illusions;  they  exemplified  absolute  perfection  in  head- 
gear. 

They  passed  through  the  gate  and  lazily  sought  the 


SHERRY  171 

shade  of  a  gnarled  old  apple  tree  whose  branches  over- 
hung the  snake-fence  bordering  the  main  highway. 
She  sat  down  upon  a  great,  moss-covered  boulder.  He 
gave  a  huge  sigh  of  satisfaction.  This  was  more  than 
he  had  expected  or  even  hoped  for.  Fearing  that  she 
might  change  her  mind  if  he  hesitated,  he  promptly 
deposited  his  long  frame  on  the  ground  beside  her. 

She  was  speaking  of  her  grandmother  and  Andrew 
Gilman. 

"  The  surprising  part  is  that  no  one,  not  even  my 
aunts,  has  ever  dropped  the  slightest  hint  that  Mrs. 
Gilman  is  Granny's  sister.  You  could  have  knocked 
me  over  with  a  feather.  As  I  was  saying,  she  brought 
the  subject  up  herself  after  you  left  this  morning.  I 
was  dying  to  ask  her  all  about  it,  but  I  didn't  dare. 
Granny's  queer  about  a  good  many  things,  you  see." 

"  So  she  hasn't  spoken  to  her  sister  in  thirty  years  ? 
That's  a  long  time  to  hold  a  grudge." 

"  She  hasn't  even  seen  her  in  twenty  years.  I  don't 
know  whose  fault  it  was  in  the  beginning,  but  I  do 
know  that  Granny  has  always  hated  Andrew  Gilman. 
She  hates  him  even  more  than  she  does  the  Burtons, 
and  that's  saying  a  good  deal.  Mrs.  Gilman  is  two 
years  older  than  Granny.  That  would  make  her  sev- 
enty-three. She  has  been  confined  to  her  room, —  so 
the  report  goes, —  for  over  ten  years,  an  invalid. 
Grandmother  does  not  know  the  nature  of  her  ailment, 
but  she  as  much  as  said  to  me  this  morning  that  she  be- 
lieves her  mind  is  gone  and  that  Andrew  Gilman  keeps 
her  locked  up." 

"  By  Jove,  I  wonder  if  that's  what  I'm  likely  to  be 
up  against  if  I  go  to  work  for  him,"  he  said  anxiously. 


172  SHERRY 

"  Did  he  say  anything  to  you  about  his  wife  ?  " 

"  Very  little.  'Merely  explained  her  absence  from 
the  table  by  saying  she  hadn't  been  downstairs  to  dine 
with  him  in  years." 

"  Have  you  seen  any  one  about  the  place  who  looked 
like  a  nurse  or  attendant?  " 

"  I  didn't  notice.     Of  course,  I  wasn't  rubbering." 

"  I  hate  that  word." 

"  Well,  then,  snooping." 

"  I  got  this  much  out  of  Granny,"  she  went  on  earn- 
estly. "  Soon  after  Mr.  GLman  married  my  grand- 
mother's sister, —  that  was  a  dreadfully  long  time  ago, 
—  he  bought  up  at  tax  sale,  or  something,  a  lot  of  real 
estate  in  Farragut  on  which  the  Blair  family, —  that 
was  my  grandmother's  maiden  name, —  had  failed  to 
pay  taxes.  The  family  thought  they  could  redeem  it 
any  time  they  felt  it  convenient  to  do  so, —  times  were 
very  hard  I  believe  she  said, —  and  didn't  worry  about 
it.  Well,  things  went  on  for  about  ten  years  and  then 
the  family  got  a  chance  to  sell  the  property  to  some 
one  for  a  very  good  price.  When  they  got  ready  to 
sign  the  papers,  or  something,  Andrew  Gilman  stepped 
in  and  spoiled  the  whole  thing.  It  seems  that  he  had 
had  the  property  put  into  his  own  name,  or  something, 
and  they  were  completely  out  of  everything.  The 
rest  of  the  family  accused  him  of  being  a  snake  in  the 
grass,  and  he  came  back  at  them  by  volunteering  to 
deed  the  property  over  to  his  wife,  or  something,  and 
she  could  do  what  she  pleased  with  it.  Well,  that's 
what  he  did,  and  then  what  do  you  think?  His  wife 
snapped  her  fingers  at  her  poor  old  father  and  her 
brothers  and  her  only  sister, —  who  by  that  time  had 


SHERRY  173 

married  Grandfather  Compton  and  didn't  need  any 
money, —  and  refused  point  blank  to  restore  their  land 
to  them,  even  when  they  offered  to  pay  the  old  taxes 
and  interest,  or  whatever  it  was.  Of  course,  they  all 
understood  why  she  .acted  in  that  way.  Andrew  Gil- 
man forced  her  to  do  it.  She  — " 

"  I  don't  see  how  they  figured  it  out  in  that  way. 
Why  did  he  deed  the  property  over  to  her  — " 

"  That's  just  it,"  she  cried.  "  He  did  it  because  he 
was  so  frightfully  mean  that  he  wanted  to  make  it  ap- 
pear that  his  wife  was  meaner  than  he  was.  Of  course, 
as  Granny  says,  her  brothers  had  been  very  careless 
about  letting  the  thing  run  along  as  it  did, —  they  were 
not  good  business  men,  she  said, —  and  they  seemed  to 
think  it  was  all  right  for  Mr.  Gilman  to  hold  the  bag 
until  they  got  ready  to  relieve  him  of  it.  But  he 
wasn't  that  kind  of  a  man.  Well,  an  awful  quarrel  re- 
sulted. From  that  day  to  this  not  one  of  the  family 
has  spoken  to  either  of  the  Gilmans,  and  vice  versa. 
Granny  is  the  only  one  left  now.  Her  three  brothers 
are  dead.  I  used  to  see  one  of  them  occasionally  when 
I  was  a  little  girl.  He  was  a  terrible  old  man,  drunk 
half  the  time  and  absolutely  no  good.  Granny  used 
to  give  him  money.  He  had  a  son,  too,  who  was  also  / 
worthless.  Her  other  brothers  were  fine  men.  So,  5 
you  see,  just  Granny  and  Mrs.  Gilman  are  left,  and 
they  are  not  friendly.  It  seems  too  bad,  doesn't  it?  " 

Sherry  did  not  respond  to  this  direct  question.  A 
strange  thought  had  flashed  into  his  brain. 

"  Did  your  grandmother  say  what  had  become  of 
this  son  you  spoke  of, —  her  brother's  son,  the  worth- 
less one?  " 

J^tt^JbJt ~^5X*Lt 

•v.a 
-uv»"? 


174  SHERRY 

"  She  didn't  mention  him  at  all.  I  have  heard  my 
cousins  speak  of  him.  He  went  away  from  Farragut 
a  good  many  years  ago." 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  deeming  it  wise  to  keep  his  thoughts 
to  himself.  A  rueful  expression  fell  upon  his  face. 
"  I  certainly  hope  Mrs.  Oilman  isn't  —  er  —  non-com- 
pos mentis." 

"  Whatever  that  is,"  said  she,  her  gaze  fixed  on  a 
far-away  cloud  of  dust  on  the  highway.  "  You  in- 
tend to  take  the  job?  " 

"  I  still  have  a  little  calculating  to  do,"  he  replied, 
thinking  of  the  cumulative  salary  that  Mr.  Oilman  had 
offered  the  night  before. 

A  red  runabout  came  swiftly  down  the  road.  The 
two  watched  its  rapid  approach  in  silence.  A  good- 
looking,  sunny-faced  young  man  was  at  the  wheel,  and 
he  was  alone  in  the  car.  As  he  flashed  by  he  bowed 
and  smiled  cheerily  upon  Morna  O'Brien,  who  bowed 
stiffly  and  unsmilingly  in  return. 

"One  of  the  Burton  boys,  wasn't  it?"  Sherry  in- 
quired. 

"  The  one  they  call  Jimmy,"  said  she  briefly. 

"  I  thought  the  Comptons  and  Burtons  never 
deigned  to  — " 

"  It  isn't  my  fault,  is  it,  Mr.  Redpath,"  she  said 
sharply,  "  if  one  of  them  chooses  to  speak  to  me?  " 

"  At  the  risk  of  a  snub,"  he  added  and  took  occa- 
sion to  glance  at  her  face.  To  his  surprise  her  cheeks 
were  rosy.  It  required  but  half  an  intelligence  to  see 
that  she  was  blushing.  "  Or  did  you  snub  him  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  sure  I  should  like  him  tremendously  if 
he  were  not  one  of  those  detestable  Burtons,"  she  said 


SHERRY  175 

musingly.  "  He  is  extremely  good-looking,  isn't  he  ? 
And  he  is  nice,  Mr.  Redpath.  Even  Granny  admits 
that.  We  just  barely  nod  to  each  other,  however, — 
nothing  more.  I  haven't  spoken  to  him  since  —  well, 
it  was  over  a  year  ago.  Oh,  dear,"  she  sighed,  "  why  is 
it  that  the  men  one  could  really  like  are  the  ones  that 
can't  be  liked  at  all?  " 

"  That  sounds  Irish.  '.' 

"  Just  because  he  is  a  Burton  I  am  obliged  to 
despise  him.  I  — " 

"  And,  by  the  same  reasoning,  he  is  forced  to  hate 

you." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  hates  me,"  she  protested. 
"  Didn't  you  see  his  smile  ?  Did  that  look  as  though 
he  hated  me?  Did'—" 

"  It  certainly  did  not,"  he  said  emphatically. 

"  Last  summer  Granny  and  I  went  to  the  circus  in 
town.  It  was  the  evening  performance  and  while  the 
show  was  going  on  a  big  wind  storm  came  up.  Jimmy 
Burton, —  the  fellow  who  just  went  by  grinning  like  an 
ape, —  was  sitting  in  a  section  of  the  reserved  seats  a 
good  way  off  from  us.  The  — " 

"  You  could  see  him,  however,  in  spite  of  the  dis- 
tance? " 

"  Certainly.  I  knew  who  he  was,"  she  went  on 
calmly.  "  Well,  the  tent  began  to  wabble  in  the  wind. 
Everybody  was  nervous  and  excited.  It  got  worse. 
People  began  to  rush  for  the  doors.  Then,  all  of  a 
sudden,  a  fearful  gust  of  wind  got  under  the  edges  of 
the  tent  and  —  woof !  down  it  came !  There  was  a 
dreadful  panic.  Women  — " 

"  I  know,"  he  interrupted.     "  I  was  there." 


176  SHERRY 

"  Really  ?  Wasn't  it  frightful  ?  Did  you  go  to  the 
rescue  of  any  fair  lady  in  distress  ?  " 

"  I  went  to  the  rescue  of  the  bareback  rider  who  was 
in  the  ring  at  the  time,  if  that  is  sufficient  proof  of  my 
chivalry.  She  was  thrown  from  her  horse  and  fell  just 
in  front  of  the  section  in  which  I  was  sitting." 

"  Oh,"  she  said  doubtfully.  "  I  remember  now. 
She  was  quite  pretty.  Did  you  get  her  out  safely?  " 

"  I  believe  so.  I  am  a  little  hazy  about  what  hap- 
pened. You  see,  that  was  before  I  had  turned  over  my 
new  leaf." 

"  Well,"  she  resumed,  dismissing  his  exploit 
abruptly,  "  Granny  and  I  were  caught  in  the  crush. 
The  canvas  was  flopping  all  about  us,  and  the  little 
quarter-poles, —  that  is  what  Jimmy  Burton  called 
them  and  he  seems  to  know  a  lot  about  circuses, — 
well,  they  were  banging  around,  and  I  didn't  know 
what  was  to  become  of  us  when  suddenly  some  one 
grabbed  me  by  the  arm  and  shouted  out  to  keep  cool. 
How  on  earth  he  ever  got  over  there  so  quickly  from 
where  he  was  sitting  just  the  minute  before  I  can't  con- 
ceive. In  no  time  he  lowered  both  of  us  over  the  tops* 
of  the  seats  and  then  jumped  down  after  us.  We  were 
out  in  the  rain  in  twenty  seconds,  safe  as  anything. 
He  didn't  leave  us  until  we  were  in  the  automobile  and 
off  for  home." 

"  That  was  bully  of  him,"  exclaimed  he.  "  And  I 
don't  blame  your  grandmother  for  liking  him  too." 

"  Oh,"  she  said  quickly,  "  Granny  doesn't  know  to 
this  day  that  it  was  one  of  the  Burtons  who  rescued 
us." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

REDPATH'S  first  month  in  the  service  of  An- 
drew Gilman  ended  on  the  28th  of  September. 
On  that  day  his  employer  handed  him  ten 
crisp  twenty  dollar  bills.  If  Mr.  Gilman  knew  that  his 
new  secretary  had  gone  through  the  last  two  weeks  of 
that  month  without  so  much  as  a  penny  in  his  pockets, 
aside  from  the  cherished  silver  dollar,  he  gave  no  sign ; 
in  any  event  he  made  not  the  slightest  move  toward  re- 
lieving a  most  distressing  condition.  Perhaps  he  knew 
and  considered  it  an  excellent  way  to  test  the  young 
man's  character.  If  such  was  the  case,  he  could  not 
have  been  other  than  gratified  by  the  absence  of  a  pe- 
tition on  Sherry's  part  for  a  small  advance  against  the 
month's  pay.  The  former  spendthrift  suffered  more 
from  mortification  than  from  actual  need,  however. 
There  were  times  when  a  twenty-five  cent  piece  would 
have  saved  him  from  humiliation, —  as,  for  example, 
when  he  encountered  Morna  O'Brien  on  a  very  hot 
morning  directly  in  front  of  Gibson's  ice-cream  soda 
"  parlours  "  and  was  forced  to  ignore  the  inevitable  ap- 
peal in  her  tender  blue  eyes, —  <and  another  and  even 
more  depressing  occasion  when  he  walked  down  the 
street  with  her  until  they  came  to  Gibson's,  where  she 
deliberately  stopped  and  cried: 

"  Oh,  for  a  chocolate  sundae,  or  even  a  cherry  phos- 
phate !  I  must  have  something  to  —  come  on  in.  Are 
you  so  busy  these  days,  Mr.  Redpath,  that  you  can't 
spare  a  little  time  for  light  refreshment  ?  " 

177 


178  SHERRY 

He  turned  very  red  in  the  face,  stammered  some- 
thing about  being  in  a  terrible  rush, —  although  his 
progress  had  been  leisurely  up  to  that  instant, —  and, 
lifting  his  hat  awkwardly,  said  good-bye  to  her.  What 
would  she  think  of  him?  His  ears  burned  as  he  strode 
swiftly,  angrily  down  the  street.  Lord!  What  could 
she  think  of  him  ? 

But  Morna  was  a  discerning  young  woman.  She  un- 
derstood, and  for  hours  afterwards  she  harangued  her- 
self for  putting  him  in  such  an  embarrassing  position. 
She  even  changed  her  mind  about  the  soda-water  after 
climbing  nimbly  upon  one  of  the  high  stools  in  front 
of  the  marble  counter.  The  bold,  arrogant  inquiry  of 
the  pimply  dispenser  of  soft  drinks :  "  Well,  what  you 
going  to  have?  "  afforded  her  the  excuse  for  hopping 
down  from  the  stool  and  withering  him  with  a  look 
that  he  never  forgot.  "  Nothing,"  she  said  icily,  and 
walked  out  of  the  place.  Young  Mr.  Redpath  had  dis- 
appeared. 

It  may  be  advisable  to  record  here  at  least  one  or 
two  of  the  significant  incidents  that  marked  young 
Redpath's  apparently  successful  effort  to  rehabili- 
tate himself.  Inside  of  a  week  after  taking  up  his  new 
work,  the  word  went  around  town  that  he  was  handling 
considerable  sums  of  money  belonging  to  Andrew  Gil- 
man.  This  was  important  news  to  a  certain  clique 
that  infested  the  very  heart  of  the  city.  A  dozen  pro- 
fessional gamblers  took  heart  at  once.  Money  in  the 
pockets  of  Sherry  Redpath  was  a  most  encouraging 
sign ;  things  would  soon  be  looking  up. 

One  day  the  proprietor  of  the  most  important  gam- 
bling place  in  town  came  upon  his  former  patron  in 


SHERRY  179 

a  tobacconist's  shop.  His  pleasure  at  seeing  the  young 
inan  was  profound,  and  undoubtedly  genuine.  He 
seemed  happy  in  forgetting  the  fact  that  he  had  barred 
the  doors  of  his  place  against  him  not  many  weeks 
before  and  threatened  to  have  him  thrown  down-stairs 
if  he  came  "  nosing  around  "  again. 

All  of  th'is  was  amiably  forgotten  by  Mr.  William 
Colgate,  better  known  as  "  the  Widdy,"  but  it  had  not 
slipped  the  mind  of  his  one-time  associate. 

"  And  say,  boy,"  the  Widdy  was  saying  in  a  confi- 
dential undertone,  "  if  you're  temporarily  embarrassed, 
all  you  got  to  do  is  to  mention  it.  For  old  times'  sake 
I'll  lend  you  anything  up  to  five  hundred.  You  was  a 
good  sport  and  I'm  glad  you've  pulled  yourself  to- 
gether. There  ain't  nobody  in  this  town  that's  as 
pleased  as  I  am  over  the  way  you've  come  up  after 
practically  being  down  the  third  time.  If  I  had  half 
your  grit  I'd  cut  out  this  rotten  business  I'm  in  and  — ' 
What  say?" 

Redpath  had  interrupted  him,  smilingly  and  without 
malice.  "  I  am  hard-up,  Bill,  all  right  enough,  but 
I've  been  getting  used  to  it  for  a  long  time.  As  for 
that  *  old  time '  stuff,  don't  fool  yourself.  You  are 
not  fooling  me,  you  know.  You  did  me  a  better  turn 
when  you  ordered  me  out  of  your  place  than  you'd  be 
doing  if  you  lent  me  five  hundred,  so  we'll  let  it  stand 
at  that." 

"  Oh,  say,  now,  Sherry,"  protested  the  Widdy,  in 
a  hurt  voice,  "  you  mustn't  forget  I  was  tryin'  to  save 
a  little  of  the  old  mazoom  for  you  when  I  advised  you 
to  stay  away  from  the  joint  for  awhile, —  till  you  got 
a  chance  to  sober  up  anyhow.  Them  tin-horns  were 


180  SHERRY 

skinnin'  you  alive,  and  I  couldn't  stand  around  and  see 
'em  — " 

"  All  right,"  broke  in  Sherry  cheerily.  "  No  hard 
feelings  on  my  part.  It's  no  use,  however,  Bill.  You 
are  wasting  your  time  and  breath.  I'm  going  to  work 
for  my  money  after  this,  not  play  for  it.  You  needn't 
expect  me  up  at  the  rooms.  If  you've  got  an  idea  in 
your  head  that  I'm  crooked,  you  can  get  it  out  at  once. 
Mr.  Gilman's  money  is  quite  safe  with  me.  So  long, 
Bill." 

"  Oh,  I  say,  now,  kid,  this  is  a  hell  of  a  way  — " 

"  See  here,"  said  the  other,  turning  on  him  hotly, 
"  would  you  offer  to  lend  me  five  hundred  dollars, —  for 
old  times'  sake, —  if  I  came  to  you,  sober  and  straight 
as  I  am  now  but  without  a  job,  and  asked  you  for  it?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  Widdy  with  great  dignity. 
"  Of  course  I  would.  That's  the  kind  of  a  man  I  — " 

"  Yes,  you  would !  "  sneered  the  other.  "  You'd 
laugh  in  my  face.  As  I  said  before, —  so  long !  " 

The  Widdy  watched  him  through  narrowed,  evil  eyes 
as  he  crossed  the  street  and  entered  the  bank.  A  mean 
smile  played  about  his  lips.  "  It  seems  that  the  idea 
ain't  original  with  me,",  he  was  saying  to  himself. 
"  He's  been  thinkin'  of  it  himself.  Well,  we'll  see." 

The  same  afternoon  Sherry  was  hailed  from  behind 
by  a  loud,  joyous  voice,  and  as  he  turned  to  see  who 
had  called,  two  heavy-breathing  pedestrians  in  very 
loud  clothes  drew  up  beside  him  and  stuck  out  their 
hands. 

"  Well,  by  Jiminy,  if  it  isn't  our  little  old  Sherry 
boy  as  big  as  life  and  twice  as  — "  began  one  of  them, 
a  sallow-faced  individual  with  a  thin,  drooping  mous- 


SHERRY  181 

tache  and  a  perpetually  drooping  pair  of  greenish 
eyes. 

"  I  said  it  was  you,  kid,  the  minute  I  saw  you,"  put 
in  the  other,  an  elderly  person  with  watery  eyes  and  a 
bulbous  nose.  "  Put  her  there,  Redpath,  my  boy." 

Sherry  kept  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  It's  no  use," 
he  said,  shaking  his  head  slowly ;  "  not  a  bit  of  use, 
boys.  I've  quit." 

"Quit?" 

"Quit  what?" 

"  Talking  with  my  hands,"  said  Sherry,  and  to  them 
it  was  a  perfectly  intelligent  remark. 

"  Just  as  you  like,"  said  the  sallow  one,  lifting  his 
gaze  for  a  singularly  keen  and  searching  examination 
of  the  young  man's  face.  Without  another  word,  he 
turned  and  walked  away. 

"I  was  just  going  to  suggest  a  drink,  Sherry," 
mumbled  the  older  sport,  and  then,  suddenly  aware  of 
his  companion's  defection,  called  out :  "  Wait  a  sec- 
ond, Ike ! "  and  was  off  in  his  wake  without  so  much  as 
a  word  of  explanation  or  farewell  to  the  unresponsive 
Redpath. 

These  and  similar  experiences  provided  unwhole- 
some food  for  thought.  It  was  clear  to  the  young 
man  that  his  old-time  associates  of  the  bar-room  and 
den  anticipated  a  return  to  the  habits  that  had 
wrecked  him  and  were  alive  to  the  importance  of  being 
prepared  for  the  new  harvest. 

His  duties  were  not  many,  but  they  were  onerous. 
He  was  not  surprised  to  find  that  his  employer  at- 
tended to  practically  all  of  his  correspondence,  and 
kept  his  own  day-book  and  ledger.  Later  on,  ex- 


182  SHERRY 

plained  Mr.  Gilman,  this  work  would  fall  to  him,  but 
not  until  experience  along  other  lines  had  developed 
a  capacity  for  details  and  thoroughness.  The  rents 
of  selected  tenants  were  to  be  collected  by  him,  and 
he  was  to  accompany  the  old  man  when  he  went  into 
the  lower  and  rougher  parts  of  town  to  collect  from 
others.  There  was  a  definite  understanding  as  to  his 
hours.  It  struck  him  as  significant  that  he  was  to 
have  one  free  night  a  week, —  that  is  to  say,  one  night 
for  enterprises  of  a  social  character, —  and  that  on 
such  occasions  Mr.  Gilman  would  remain  up  until  his 
return  to  the  house,  no  matter  what  the  hour. 

When  he  undertook  to  assure  his  employer  that  such 
a  course  was  unnecessary,  the  old  man  cut  him  off 
shortly  with  the  remark  that  under  no  condition  would 
he  retire  until  the  house  was  closed  for  the  night. 

It  was  required  of  him,  moreover,  that  he  should 
specify  the  night  on  which  he  wished  to  be  out  and  to 
obtain  the  consent  of  his  employer  before  making  an 
engagement  for  that  night.  Aside  from  this  rather 
rigid  provision,  the  requirements  of  his  position  were 
not  out  of  the  ordinary.  Mr.  Gilman  promised  to 
keep  him  busy.  A  signed  contract  covered  all  of  the 
essentials. 

The  young  man  was  not  deceived  as  to  the  nature 
of  his  position  in  the  house.  During  his  profound  cal- 
culations in  the  woods  that  sunny  afternoon,  when  he 
scribbled  for  an  hour  or  more  on  the  backs  of  envel- 
opes in  proving  to  himself  the  astounding  growth  of 
his  progressive  salary,  he  did  not  fail  to  take  into  con- 
sideration the  possibility  of  the  old  man's  death  long 
before  his  pay  reached  its  stupendous  ultimate,  and 


SHERRY  183 

with  that  thought  came  the  conviction  that  his  princi- 
pal office  would  be  the  prolongation  of  Andrew  Gil- 
man's  life. 

In  other  words,  Mr.  Gilman's  proposition  had  a  very 
definite  purpose  behind  it.  The  longer  he  lived  the 
greater  would  be  the  profit  to  the  "  party  of  the  sec- 
ond part,"  otherwise  Sheridan  Redpath.  There  was 
not  the  slightest  doubt  in  the  young  man's  mind  that 
Andrew  Gilman  lived  in  dread  of  some  sinister  force, 
that  he  lived  in  fear  of  something  that  would  come  only 
in  the  dead  of  night,  and  strike  not  with  the  hand  of 
God  but  the  hand  of  an  assassin ! 

"  Well,"  said  the  party  of  the  second  part  to  him- 
self, as  he  thrilled  under  the  excitement  and  uncer- 
tainty of  what  lay  before  him  if  he  accepted  the  post, 
"  I  don't  know  what's  in  the  wind, —  and  I  guess  it's 
just  as  well  that  I  shouldn't  know, —  but  it  looks  as 
though  I'm  expected  to  sleep  with  one  eye  open  for  the 
next  few  years." 

He  was  given  a  room  on  the  second  floor  of  the  som- 
bre, silent  old  house, —  a  large,  airy  room  with  doors 
opening  into  other  rooms  on  either  side.  Mr.  Gilman 
explained  that  his  own  bed-room  was  to  the  right,  while 
to  the  left  was  a  sitting-room  used  by  his  wife  when 
she  was  able  to  be  up  and  about, —  which  was  at  rare 
intervals.  Mrs.  Gilman's  bed-chamber  was  beyond  this 
sitting-room.  Across  the  narrow  hall  and  directly  op- 
posite, was  the  room  occupied  by  a  female  attendant 
who  had  taken  care  of  Mrs.  Gilman  since  the  begin- 
ning of  her  illness. 

"  One  of  the  reasons  why  I  expect  you  to  be  in  bed, 
or  at  least  in  your  room  before  I  retire,"  explained  Mr. 


184  SHERRY 

Gilman,  "  is  that  I  always  enter  my  own  room  through 
this  one.  I  do  not  use  the  door  opening  from  my 
room  into  the  hall.  That  door,  I  may  add,  is  locked 
and  barred.  It  is  never  opened.  It  is  only  fair  to 
you,  my  lad,  to  explain  that  Mrs.  Gilman's  affliction 
is  of  a  nervous  character.  Not  mental,  as  you  may 
conclude,  but  of  an  extremely  unhappy  nature,  just 
the  same.  She  cannot  bear  the  idea  of  having  the 
doors  to  her  own  room  locked.  Indeed,  the  mere 
thought  of  it  induces  the  most  excruciating  suffering. 
She  wants  to  be  alone  at  night,  but  she  does  not  want 
to  be  locked  in  her  room.'  This  door,  therefore,  which 
opens  into  her  sitting-room,  is  never  locked,  nor  is  her 
bed-room  door  beyond.  As  you  may  readily  see,  I  can 
pass  from  my  own  room  to  hers,  at  the  far  end  of  the 
house,  without  going  into  the  hall.  Her  hall  door  is 
always  closed  but  never  locked.  Miss  Corse,  her 
nurse,  is  required  to  keep  her  own  bed-room  door  un- 
locked. It  will  not  be  necessary  for  you  to  lock  your 
hall  door.  You  will  observe  that  there  are  no  means 
of  locking  the  doors  between  your  room  and  those 
on  either  side  of  you.  The  locks  have  been  removed, 
—  at  the  request  of  Mrs.  Gilman,  I  may  say.  Her 
comfort  and  pleasure  come  first  with  every  one  con- 
nected with  this  household,  Sheridan.  She  keeps  close 
to  her  room.  No  one  intrudes  upon  her  privacy. 
You  will  see  but  little  of  her,  my  boy.  It  is  not  neces- 
sary, of  course,  for  me  to  remind  you  that  this  pri- 
vacy is  not  to  be  disturbed." 

"  Certainly  not,  sir.  I  am  sorry  that  Mrs.  Gilman 
is—" 

"  These  two  windows  face  the  street,"  interrupted 


SHERRY  185 

Mr.  Gilman  abruptly.  "  The  roof  of  the  veranda,  as 
you  may  have  observed,  runs  the  full  length  of  the 
house.  I  must  ask  you  not  to  step  from  your  window 
upon  that  roof.  The  fact  that  some  one  was  outside 
her  windows  would  be  very  disturbing  to  my  wife,  as 
you  may  well  imagine.  She  is  very  sensitive  to  noises, 
and  even  to  the  remote  presence  of  strangers." 

Redpath  moved  his  few  belongings  into  the  house  and 
prepared  to  make  the  best  of  a  rather  uninviting  pros- 
pect. His  first  night  was  a  sleepless  one.  He  could 
not  divert  his  thoughts  from  the  room  at  the  extreme 
end  of  the  hall.  What  of  its  occupant?  Was  she, 
after  all,  a  mad  woman?  Young  and  strong  and  fear- 
less as  he  was,  he  experienced  an  occasional  creepiness 
of  the  flesh;  his  ears  were  alert  for  sounds;  his  eyes, 
closed  tight,  were  ready  to  pop  open  at  the  slightest 
noise.  Try  as  he  would,  he  could  not  go  to  sleep.  All 
the  grewsome  sensations  that  he  had  felt  in  the  dead  of 
night  when  he  was  a  small  and  lonely  boy  came  rushing 
up  out  of  the  past  to  confront  him  once  more.  He 
could  not  laugh  them  away.  They  persisted,  and  he 
was  a  foolish  boy  again. 

His  bedstood  stood  almost  directly  in  front  of  the 
door  leading  to  Mr.  Gilman's  room.  The  door  was 
closed.  It  could  not  be  opened  without  coming  in  con- 
tact with  his  bed,  and  because  of  the  obstruction  could 
not  be  thrown  completely  ajar.  He  was  lying,  there- 
fore, so  close  to  the  thin  barrier  that  he  could  hear  the 
heavy,  stertorous  breathing  of  the  old  man  in  the  next 
room.  Save  for  that,  there  was  not  a  sound  in  the 
house  from  midnight  till  dawn.  There  was  something 
eerie  about  the  silence  that  enveloped  him. 


186  SHERRY 

After  a  few  nights  this  sense  of  oppressiveness  wore 
off,  and,  while  he  awoke  at  the  slightest  sound,  his  slum- 
bering was  sweet  and  natural.  The  queer  feeling  of 
dread  left  him.  Nothing  had  happened  and  appar- 
ently nothing  was  going  to  happen. 

Aside  from  the  odd  circumstance  of  the  old  woman 
who  was  never  seen  nor  heard,  day  or  night,  the  house- 
hold was  as  commonplace  as  any  other  he  had  known. 
There  were  two  women-servants,  both  old  in  the  service 
of  the  Gilmans :  a  cook  and  a  general  housemaid.  The 
chauffeur,  who  also  acted  as  gardener  and  outside-man, 
did  not  sleep  on  the  place.  Miss  Corse,  the  nurse,  at- 
tended to  all  of  the  wants  of  Mrs.  Gilman.  She  car- 
ried her  tray  to  and  from  the  kitchen,  prepared  her 
food,  took  care  of  her  rooms  and  actually  stood  as  a 
barrier  between  her  charge  and  the  other  occupants  of 
the  house.  She  was  a  tall,  spare  woman  of  uncertain 
age,  with  a  rather  agreeable  smile  and  a  pleasant  voioe. 
At  nine  o'clock  each  morning  she  made  a  private  report 
to  Andrew  Gilman,  whose  only  comment  was  a  steady, 
almost  imperceptible  nodding  of  the  head. 

Toward  the  end  of  his  third  week,  a  most  extraor- 
dinary thing  happened.  Had  he  not  been  in  possession 
of  certain  facts,  it  would  have  been  a  commonplace,  or- 
'dinary  incident,  unworthy  of  notice  or  comment. 

Mrs.  Compton  came  to  call  on  Andrew  Gilman ! 

Apparently  her  visit  was  not  unexpected.  Mr.  Gil- 
man was  plainly  disturbed  and  nervous  during  the  mid- 
•day  meal,  and  there  was  a  dark  frown  as  of  perplexity 
on  his  seamed  brow.  She  came  at  three  and  remained 
in  the  house  not  longer  than  ten  minutes.  Her  depart- 
ure was  as  abrupt  and  unceremonious  as  her  arrival. 


SHERRY  187 

The  automobile  waited  for  her  at  the  bottom  of  the 
drive,  and  it  was  worthy  of  notice  that  the  engine  was 
not  shut  dawn  during  her  brief  absence.  At  the  end  of 
her  interview  with  Andrew  Gilman,  which  took  place  be- 
hind closed  doors  in  the  library,  she  strode  briskly 
forth  and  made  her  way  unattended  down  the  walk. 
Mr.  Gilman  did  not  even  accompany  her  to  the  front 
door  of  his  home. 


CHAPTER  XV 

REDPATH  was  curious  but  he  was  above  spy- 
ing. That  this  break  in  the  rigid  silence  of 
thirty  years  was  due  to  an  overpowering  ne- 
cessity was  perfectly  clear  to  him.  The  redoubtable 
Mrs.  Compton  would  not  have  withdrawn  from  the 
stand  she  had  taken  unless  moved  by  something  more 
imperative  than  mere  sentimentality,  or  repentance,  or 
even  sisterly  love.  And,  for  that  matter,  Andrew  Gil- 
man  would  not  have  received  her  in  the  house  she  had 
disdained  for  so  many  years  except  under  the  most  ur- 
gent and  compelling  circumstances. 

The  new  secretary  spent  many  an  hour  in  specula- 
tion, but  no  light  came  to  him.  One  feature  stood  out 
clear  and  well-defined,  however,  and  it  was  worth  all 
the  thought  he  could  put  upon  it:  it  was  undoubtedly 
Andrew  Gilman  and  not  his  visitor  who  went  down  to 
defeat  in  that  unwitnessed  conflict  of  two  strong,  res- 
olute natures. 

The  change  in  him  was  immediate  and  noticeable. 
When  Redpath  reported  to  him  soon  after  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton's  departure,  he  found  the  old  man  pale  and  shaken ; 
his  effort  to  appear  calm  and  natural  was  so  obvious 
that  Sherry  was,  for  the  moment,  embarrassed.  In 
time,  however,  the  old  man  regained  control  of  his 
nerves  and  then,  strangely  enough,  he  was  more  grim 
and  remote  than  ever  before.  Not  a  word  did  he  utter 
concerning  his  visitor  or  the  object  of  her  visit. 

188 


SHERRY  189 

Redpath  was  shrewdly  aware  of  an  underlying  mo- 
tive back  of  the  summons  which  brought  him  to  the  li- 
brary. Something  told  him  that  Andrew  Gilman  was 
deliberately  testing  his  own  powers  of  concentration. 
Such  was  the  forceful,  arrogant  nature  of  this  sub- 
lime egotist  that  he  was  willing  to  pit  his  shaken  nerves 
against  the  keen  observation  of  a  thoroughly  stimulated 
curiosity,  for  he  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  Red- 
path's  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  household  had  long 
since  outgrown  the  passive  stage. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  over  that  matter  of  Edge- 
comb's,"  said  Andy  Gee,  stopping  in  front  of  his  sec- 
retary, his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back.  "  Perhaps 
the  man  is  telling  the  truth  about  his  family  in  Eng- 
land. In  that  event  — "  and  thus  began  a  cool,  mat- 
ter-of-fact discussion  of  the  dismal  affairs  of  one 
Henry  Edgecomb,  butcher,  who  was  four  months  be- 
hind with  his  rent. 

That  night  Redpath  went  to  the  theatre.  It  was, 
as  he  drolly  put  it,  his  "  night  out."  The  manager  of 
the  Grand  Opera  House,  a  gentleman  of  Hebraic  ori-*)  . 
gin  and  the  possessor  of  considerable  foresight,  had 
given  him  a  "  pass  "  a  day  or  two  earlier.  The  season 
was  just  beginning.  No  harm,  thought  the  long- 
headed manager,  in  encouraging  his  one-time  consist- 
ently regular  patron,  especially  as  the  "  advance  sale  " 
was  meagre  and  the  "  attraction  "  one  of  the  "  seventy- 
thirty  "  type, —  which  means  that  the  local  manage- 
ment takes  but  thirty  per  cent  of  the  "  gross  "  and  re- 
gards itself  in  the  light  of  a  victim  of  the  high-handed 
methods  of  greedy  New  York  "  syndicates,"  and  so  on 
and  so  forth.  (You  should  hear  the  small  town  man- 


190  SHERRY 

ager  dilate  upon  the  iniquities  of  the  "  system  "  if  you 
are  at  all  pessimistic  about  your  own  miserable  exist- 
ence. He  will  make  an  optimist  of  you  in  five  min- 
utes.) 

At  half-past  nine  Redpath  went  out  "  front  "  and 
poked  his  head  through  the  door  of  the  manager's 
office.  He  was  a  privileged  character, —  or,  at  any 
rate,  he  had  been  one, —  and  now  presumed  upon  past 
intimacy. 

"  Jake,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  am  I  right  in  thinking 
that  you  told  me  this  company  was  direct  from  New 
York,  or  was  it  another  hallucination  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  New  York,"  replied  the  little  mana- 
ger speciously.  "  I  said  *  Broadway.'  You  needn't 
tell  me  it's  punk.  Half  a  dozen  people  have  already 
come  out  here  to  tell  me  that,  and  they  paid  to  get  in. 
I  saw  somewhere  the  other  day  that  Broadway  runs 
clear  from  the  Battery  to  Albany.  It's  a  long,  long 
street,  that  Broadway,  and  it's  got  Yonkers  on  it,  and 
Peekskill,  and  Poughkeepsie.  Do  you  get  me?  " 

"  I  do.  This  one's  from  Yonkers.  You  got  me 
here  tonight,  Jake,  under  false  pretences.  I  must  ask 
you  to  fork  over  what  I  paid  for  my  ticket." 

Jake  appeared  to  be  calculating.  "  You  saw  one 
act  of  the  show,  didn't  you?  " 

"Was  it  an  act?" 

"  Sure  it  was.     Didn't  the  curtain  go  up  and  down?  " 

"  Now  that  you  mention  it,  it  did." 

"  Well,  if  you'll  go  back  and  see  the  other  two  acts 
I'll  let  you  sit  in  a  box  all  by  yourself.  That  will  give 
the  rest  of  the  audience  something  of  interest  to  look  at 
and  they  won't  be  coming  out  here  with  blood  in  their 


SHERRY  191 

eye  demanding  their  money  back.     You're  the  biggest 
hit  in  town." 

"  Good  night!  "  exclaimed  Sherry,  good-naturedly, 
and  departed.  Bad  as  the  performance  was,  he  would 
have  remained  to  the  bitter  end  if  his  search  through 
the  audience  had  revealed  the  presence  of  Morna 
O'Brien.  She  was  not  there,  so  he  went  home. 

His  return  at  ten  o'clock  was  unexpected.  There 
was  no  one  in  the  library.  Mr.  Gilman  always  sat 
there  reading  until  eleven  or  after.  He  never  went 
over  his  accounts  at  night.  The  days  were  long 
enough,  he  claimed,  for  any  honest  man  to  do  all  that 
he  had  to  do ;  the  nights  were  for  relaxation. 

In  some  uneasiness,  Sherry  mounted  the  stairsv 
There  was  no  light  in  the  transom  over  his  employer's 
bed-room  door,  nor  in  his  own.  Just  as  he  was  on  the 
point  of  returning  to  the  lower  floor  to  search  for  Mr. 
Gilman,  the  door  to  Mrs.  Gilman's  sitting-room  was 
opened.  A  stream  of  light  flashed  for  an  instant 
against  the  wall  opposite,  and  then  was  shut  off  by  the 
quick  closing  of  the  door.  Mr.  Gilman  had  emerged 
from  the  room  and  was  approaching.  In  all  the  days 
and  nights  he  had  spent  in  and  about  the  house,  Red- 
path  had  never  known  the  old  man  to  approach  his 
wife's  quarters. 

"  You  are  home  early,"  said  Mr.  Gilman  affably,  as 
they  met  at  the  top  of  the  stairs.  "  Wasn't  the  play 
any  good?  " 

"  It  was  awful."  He  ventured  a  bold  inquiry. 
"  Isn't  Mrs.  Gilman  so  well  tonight?  "  There  was  real 
solicitude,  real  anxiety,  in  his  voice. 

"  Quite  as  well  as  usual,"  replied  the  other.     "  There 


192  SHERRY 

is  never  much  of  a  change,  either  way.  I  have  just 
been  talking  with  Miss  Corse, —  and  doing  a  little  de- 
tective work,  my  lad.  By  the  way,  did  you  hear  any 
unusual  sounds  outside  your  windows  last  night, —  or 
any  night,  for  that  matter?  " 

"  No,  sir.     I'm  a  very  light  sleeper,  too." 

"  Ah,  I  am  glad  to  hear  that.  Miss  Corse  says  it  is 
pure  imagination,  and  I  am  inclined  to  believe  she  is 
right.  Mrs.  Gilman  declares  she  heard  some  one  on 
the  roof  of  the  veranda  this  evening.  Autumn  leaves 
blowing  across  the  shingles,  is  what  I  make  it  out  to  be. 
There  is  quite  a  strong  wind  tonight,  isn't  there?  " 

"  A  stiff  breeze,  and  getting  much  colder.  Frost  in 
the  air.  Would  it  relieve  Mrs.  Gilman's  mind  if  I  were 
to  take  a  turn  around  the  lawn  and  garden  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  is  convinced  that  everything  is  all 
right,"  said  the  other.  "  I  had  a  look  myself,  just  to 
satisfy  her.  Are  you  off  to  bed  so  early?  " 

"  I  have  a  little  work  to  do  in  my  room.  I  didn't 
quite  finish  transferring  the  — " 

"  Never  mind  doing  it  tonight,"  broke  in  the  old 
man,  quite  genially.  "  Let  it  go  over  till  tomorrow. 
Only  geniuses  work  at  night, —  geniuses  and  sewing 
women, —  there  may  be  others,  but  — "  He  shook  his 
head  dubiously. 

"  Such  as  under-graduates  and  safe-blowers,"  sup- 
plied Sherry,  in  a  like  mood.  They  were  descending 
the  stairs  together.  Mr.  Gilman  had  clasped  the 
young  man's  arm  ostensibly  in  what  was  meant  to  be 
a  familiar  manner.  Sherry,  however,  was  subtly  aware 
of  a  gentle  force  which  urged  him  onward. 

He  smiled  to  himself.     The  story  about  the  noise  on 


SHERRY  193 

the  veranda  roof  was  a  creation,  pure  and  simple,  in- 
spired by  sudden  necessity.  There  was  not  the  slight- 
est doubt  in  his  mind  that  Mr.  Gilman's  visit  to  his 
wife's  room  was  for  the  purpose  of  laying  before  her, 
even  at  the  risk  of  grave  consequences,  the  facts  con- 
nected with  the  astounding  visitation  of  the  early  af- 
ternoon. 

He  was  now,  more  than  ever,  convinced  that  Mrs. 
Compton,  not  through  love  or  compunction,  but  be- 
cause she  was  fair  despite  her  antipathies,  had  come 
with  revelations  which  were  of  the  utmost  importance 
to  the  Gilmans.  Back  in  his  mind  lurked  always  the 
bit  of  news  imparted  by  Morna  O'Brien :  there  had 
been  a  worthless  brother  to  these  two  women,  and  he 
had  had  an  evil  son. 

For  an  hour  the  two  men  sat  in  the  library.  Mr. 
Oilman  did  most  of  the  talking.  He  appeared  to  be  in 
a  jovially  reminiscent  mood.  As  he  related  certain  of 
his  experiences  in  dealing  with  the  rich  and  poor  of 
Farragut,  his  sharp  little  eyes  twinkled  merrily,  his 
grim  features  relaxed  into  a  quaint,  almost  shy  smile 
of  amusement,  in  which  there  seemed  also  to  be  an  ap- 
peal for  the  young  man's  sympathy. 

The  latter  was  vastly  entertained.  He  was  soon 
laughing  heartily  and  unrestrainedly.  Andy  Gee's 
gift  of  narrative  was  incomparable.  He  possessed  a 
dry,  crisp  wit  and,  true  to  form,  was  sparing  of  words. 
He  was  terse  almost  to  the  point  of  abruptness,  and  yet 
he  was  graphic.  An  unsuspected  phase  of  his  em- 
ployer's character  was  revealed  to  Sherry;  he  caught 
himself  wondering  if  this  could  be  Andrew  Oilman  who 
jested  so  marvellously  well.  Former  conversations  of 


194  SHERRY 

an  intimate  nature  had  afforded  him  a  glimpse  of  the 
man's  intellectual  attributes ;  there  had  been  occasional 
flashes  of  the  brightest  sort  of  irony ;  but  not  until  to- 
night had  he  appeared  in  the  role  of  raconteur. 

"  By  Jove,  Mr.  Gilman,"  cried  he,  after  a  par- 
ticularly amusing  account  of  old  Judge  Emmons'  third 
marriage,  "  you  ought  to  get  out  a  book  of  these  stories. 
They're  marvellous.  People  would  die  laughing  at 
some  of  the  — " 

"  My  dear  boy,  would  you  make  a  murderer  of  me?  " 
cried  the  old  man.  "  Would  you  have  me,  for  the  sake 
of  a  few  paltry  dollars  and  the  pride  of  seeing  my 
name  on  a  title-page,  kill  thousands  of  innocent  peo- 
ple? It  is  monstrous!  I  am  shocked  —  Yes?  What 
is  it,  Miss  Corse?  " 

The  nurse  was  standing  in  the  open  door.  Both  men 
had  turned  quickly  as  she  tapped  with  her  knuckles  on 
the  panel. 

"  Mrs.  Gilman  has  changed  her  mind,  sir.  She  will 
see  you  now,  sir,  if  you  will  come  at  once." 

Without  a  word,  the  master  of  the  house  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  hurried  from  the  room.  Redpath  realized 
later  on  that  he  had  been  holding  his  breath  for  a  long 
time.  He  was  dumbfounded.  Mrs.  Gilman  had 
changed  her  mind  and  would  see  her  husband  now!  He 
had  not  been  with  her  earlier  in  the  evening  after  all. 
Even  as  he  began  to  smile  over  his  own  silly  deductions, 
Miss  Corse  re-entered  the  library.  She  came  straight 
to  his  side. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it's  all  about,  Mr.  Redpath," 
she  said  hurriedly,  lowering  her  voice.  "  Maybe  it 
means  a  reconciliation.  I've  been  here  nine  vears  and 


SHERRY  195 

in  all  that  time  they've  never  spoken  a  word  to  each 
other.  In  fact,  so  far  as  I  know,  they've  not  even  seen 
each  other." 

"  Good  Lord,"  cried  Sherry,  "  I  never  dreamed  there 
was  anything  like  that  in  the  wind.  I  thought  she  was 
so  hopelessly  —  er  —  afflicted  that  she  couldn't  — " 

"  She's  as  well  as  you  or  I,"  said  the  nurse  deliber- 
ately. '*  Except  for  her  age,  I  mean,  and  the  queer 
fancies  that  sometimes  come  to  old  people.  Nine  years 
of  it,  that's  what  it's  been,  and  I  don't  know  how 
long  it  had  been  going  on  before  I  came.  In  all  these 
years  this  is  the  first  time  he  has  asked  her  to  see  him, 
so  it  must  be  important.  I  guess  it's  pretty  bad,  what- 
ever it  is.  Don't  think  I'm  blabbing  secrets.  I  just 
had  to  let  out  to  somebody.  You  look  and  act  like  a 
sensible,  trustworthy  young  fellow  and  I  — " 

"  You  say  she  isn't  ill  ?  "  cried  he,  incredulously. 

"  She's  the  huskiest  old  woman  I've  ever  seen,"  said 
she  tersely.  "  Has  indigestion  once  in  awhile  and 
touches  of  rheumatism,  but  that's  all." 

"  And  she  stays  in  her  room,  day  and  night,  with 
nothing  at  all  the  matter  with  her?  " 

"  That's  exactly  what  she  does.  Like  a  groundhog. 
By  glory,  I  wonder  if  she'll  be  able  to  recognize  him 
after  all  these  years.  He  has  changed  a  lot.  He  used 
to  wear  whiskers,  they  say.  The  funny  part  of  it  is, 
she  has  queer  dreams  about  him,  and  sees  him  as  plain 
as  day  walking  about  in  her  room,  and  without  whis- 
kers, mind  you.  That  comes  of  me  arguing  with  her  a 
few  months  ago  about  the  way  Mr.  Gilman  looks.  She 
never  knew  him  when  he  didn't  have  whiskers.  They 
used  to  be  the  fashion  a  long  time  ago.  According  to 


196  SHERRY 

her,  he  must  have  had  the  niftiest  set  of  whiskers  in 
Farragut  on  the  day  they  were  married.  They  used 
to  curl  them,  too.  My  Gawd,  how  she  hates  him! 
He's  had  his  orders,  all  right  enough.  Never  a  foot 
can  he  put  inside  her  room.  He  can't  poke  the  tip  of 
his  nose  — " 

"  But  he  was  in  her  room  tonight,"  interrupted  he. 
"  He  came  out  of  her  sitting-room  as  I  was  going  up- 
stairs." 

"  You're  mistaken  about  that.  He  may  have  been 
down  at  that  end  of  the  hall,  but  inside  her  room?  Not 
much!" 

"  See  here,  Miss  Corse,  it's  none  of  my  business,  and 
I'm  not  here  to  pry  into  the  private  affairs  of  my  em- 
ployer, but  I'd  like  to  ask  you  one  question.  Did  you 
tell  him  that  Mrs.  Gilman  thought  she  heard  some  one 
on  the  veranda  roof?  " 

"  Yes.  Wasn't  anything,  though.  She's  always 
hearing  queer  noises.  Maybe  she  is  a  little  dotty,  after 
all.  I  told  him  not  to  bother  looking  outside,  because 
I  was  sure  it  was  the  wind  blowing  leaves  against  the 
side  of  the  house." 

"What  time  was  this?" 

"  About  half-past  eight.  He  went  outside  and  in- 
vestigated. Then  he  came  up  to  my  room  and  ordered 
me  —  ordered,  mind  you, —  to  go  in  and  tell  Mrs.  Gil- 
man he  had  to  see  her  about  something  vitally  impor- 
tant. I  told  her.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  way 
she  took  on.  I  thought  she  was  going  to  have  a  stroke 
then  and  there.  Well,  he  was  fearfully  upset.  Pretty 
soon  he  came  back  upstairs  and  rapped  on  her  door.  I 
heard  her  ask  who  was  there.  He  told  her.  Not  a 


SHERRY  197 

word  out  of  her.  I  opened  my  door  and  came  out. 
He  had  an  envelope  in  his  hand.  He  held  it  up  for 
me  to  see,  and  then  stuck  it  under  her  door,  speaking 
loudly  so's  she  couldn't  help  hearing.  He  said :  *  If 
you  don't  read  this  note  you  will  be  doing  some  one  the 
greatest  wrong  in  the  world,  and  that  some  one  is  not 
me.'  Then  he  went  down-stairs.  There  is  a  bell  in  my 
room  that  can  be  rung  from  hers.  About  ten  min- 
utes ago  she  rang  it.  I  went  in.  She  was  perfectly 
cool  and  calm.  She  sent  me  down  to  tell  Mr.  G.  she'd 
see  him  if  he'd  come  up  at  once.  It  must  be  something 
very  important,  or  she  wouldn't  give  in  like  this.  I 
wonder  what  it  can  be." 

"  The  Lord  only  knows,"  said  he,  more  to  himself 
than  to  her. 

"  First  time  in  more  than  nine  years,  to  my  personal 
knowledge,"  said  she,  glancing  over  her  shoulder. 
"  I'm  glad  to  have  some  one  to  talk  to,  Mr.  Redpath. 
Not  that  I'm  dissatisfied  with  the  job,  mind  you.  It's 
easy.  She's  no  trouble  at  all,  and  he  is  perfectly 
lovely  to  me.  I  don't  believe  half  the  mean  things  they 
say  about  him.  I  guess  I'd  better  be  getting  back  up- 
stairs. I  wouldn't  have  him  think  I'd  been  talking 
to  you  about  —  these  things,  and  he'd  be  smart  enough 
to  know  it  for  sure  if  he  saw  us  together.  You  can't 
fool  old  Andy  Gee.  And  say,  Mr.  Redpath,  this  ha- 
tred ain't  one-sided,  not  by  a  long  shot.  When  I  said 
she  hated  him  worse  than  poison,  I  should  have  added 
that  the  pleasure  is  not  all  hers.  He  despises  her. 
Sometimes  I  feel  so  sorry  for  old  Andy  Gee  I  could  cry. 
Whatever  it  was  that  happened  to  bring  all  this  about, 
I'll  bet  my  soul  he  wasn't  the  one  to  blame.  If  you 


198  SHERRY 

could  see  the  set,  hard  look  about  her  mouth,  you'd  say 
so,  too." 

"  Don't  you  think  you'd  better  be  up-stairs,  ready, 
in  case  she  —  well,  goes  to  pieces,  as  they  say  ?  You 
may  be  needed  in  case  — " 

"  No  danger  of  that,"  said  she  firmly.  "  She's  got 
the  whip  hand  of  him  now,  and  if  anybody  cracks  un- 
der the  strain  it  will  be  Mr.  G.  I  sized  things  up  when 
I  was  in  there  a  few  minutes  ago.  Whatever  it  is, 
she's  got  him  where  she  wants  him  at  last,  and  she's  not 
going  to  pieces  about  it,  believe  me.  Still,  I  guess  I'll 
slip  up  and, —  well,  just  in  case,  jou  know.  Good 
night.  I  hope  you  won't  mention  anything  to  Mr.  G. 
about  what  we've  been  saying  to  each  other.  As  you 
say,  it  isn't  any  business  of  ours." 

"  You  may  rest  easy,  Miss  Corse." 

At  twelve  o'clock  Mr.  Gilman  emerged  from  his 
wife's  room  and  came  slowly  down  the  hall  toward  Red- 
path's  door.  He  stopped  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  and 
listened  for  a  moment.  The  house  was  dark,  save  for 
a  single  light  in  the  upper  hall,  a  light  that  burned  all 
night.  Then  he  tapped  lightly  on  Sherry's  door.  In 
response  to  a  quiet  "  come,"  he  entered  the  room. 

Redpath  was  lying  in  bed  reading.  The  old  man 
sat  down  wearily  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"  What  are  you  reading,  my  lad  ?  "  he  inquired,  pass- 
ing his  hand  over  his  brow  as  if  to  wipe  something 
away. 

"  '  The  Murderers  in  the  Rue  Morgue,'  "  said  his  sec- 
retary. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  household  slipped  back  into  its  accustomed 
groove  the  next  morning.  There  was  no 
sign  of  uneasiness  in  the  bearing  of  Andrew 
Gilman  when  he  came  down  to  breakfast.  No  matter 
how  harshly  his  emotions  may  have  been  exercised  on 
the  preceding  day,  this  new  day  at  least  bore  no  evi- 
dence that  he  had  the  slightest  grudge  against  circum- 
stance. 

Pie  was  as  bland  and  imperturbable  as  ever ;  the  anx- 
ious, furtive  expression  no  longer  lurked  in  his  eyes. 
He  ate  a  hearty  breakfast  and  relished  it. 

"  The  Dispatch  gives  you  the  lie,"  he  said,  putting 
down  his  coffee  cup.  "  It  says  that  the  play  last  night 
was  —  wait  a  second,  I  have  it  here.  It  says, —  now 
listen  to  this, —  it  says  '  The  performance  last  evening 
was  the  most  admirable  given  in  Farragut  in  many  a 
season.  Manager  Cohen  deserves  the  gratitude  of  all 
lovers  of  high  art  in  the  theatre.  It  is  to  be  lamented 
that  his  effort  to  provide  our  city  with  the  best  that 
the  theatrical  world  affords  did  not  meet  with  a  more 
generous  response  from  the  play-going  public.  There 
was  a  small  audience,  but  it  was  made  up  of  the  most 
intelligent,  discriminating,  up-to-date  people  in  Far- 
ragut. Manager  Cohen  laboured  for  months  with  the 
big  theatrical  interests  in  New  York  before  he  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  them  to  book  this  splendid  Metropol- 

199 


200  SHERRY 

itan  success  for  a  single  one  night  stand,  and  Farragut 
should  have  shown  its  appreciation  of  his  efforts  by 
packing  the  house.'  There  is  a  great  deal  more  about 
the  enterprising,  self-sacrificing  Mr.  Cohen  which  you 
may  read  at  your  leisure.  If  my  memory  serves  me 
correctly,  you  said  last  night  that  it  was  *  awful.' ' 

Sherry  laughed.  "  Perhaps  I  am  not  smart  enough 
to  recognize  a  Metropolitan  success  when  I  meet  it  in 
a  one  night  stand." 

"  I  also  read  somewhere  in  the  city  news  columns  that 
your  burglarizing  friends  are  to  be  tried  on  the  tenth 
of  November." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Justice  may  be  swifter  than  we  sus- 
pect." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  have  to  appear  as  the  principal 
witness  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly.  I  wonder  if  Mrs.  Compton  and 
Miss  O'Brien  will  be  subpoenaed.  It  seems  entirely  un- 
necessary to  drag  them  into  court." 

If  he  intended  these  remarks  as  a  "  bait  "  he  got 
nothing  for  his  effort.  Mr.  Oilman  merely  said  he 
thought  so  too,  and  a  promising  subject  was  dropped. 

Miss  Corse  froze  up  over  night.  Her  five  minute 
reduction  to  simple  nature  in  the  security  of  the  li- 
brary was  not  likely  to  recur,  judging  by  the  manner 
in  which  she  bowed  to  her  late  confidant  when  she  met 
him  in  the  lower  hall. 

"  Everything  all  right  this  morning?  "  he  had  in- 
quired, hoping  to  nourish  the  sprout  of  intimacy. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  beautiful  morning,"  she  replied,  and 
passed  on  up  the  stairs,  carrying  Mrs.  Oilman's  break-* 
fast  tray. 


SHERRY  201 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  himself,  pensively,  "  it's  none  of 
my  business  anyway." 

Later  in  the  day  he  encountered  her  again.  She 
was  quite  civil, —  she  was  never  anything  else,  for  that 
matter, —  but  the  Sphinx  could  have  been  no  more  si- 
lent than  she  on  the  one  topic  he  was  particularly  eager 
to  have  revived. 

He  waited  a  week  and  then,  hearing  nothing  from 
Mrs.  Compton,  decided  that  it  was  his  duty  as  a 
friend  to  run  out  to  her  place  in  the  automobile  and 
talk  over  the  coming  trial  with  her. 

She  was  more  than  pleased  to  see  him.  For  as  much 
as  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  discussed  the  case  and  the 
events  of  that  historic  night,  and  then  for  quite  an 
hour  and  a  half  they  talked  of  nearly  everything  under 
the  sun.  At  last  he  arose  to  go.  He  may  have  sighed, 
but  if  so  she  was  politely  unobservant. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  pausing  on  the  porch  steps, 
—  and  quite  as  if  the  thought  had  entered  his  mind  for 
the  first  time,  "  how  is  Miss  O'Brien?  " 

"  She  is  always  well.  That  is  one  of  the  reasons  why 
she  is  my  favourite  grandchild.  The  others  are  for  ever 
complaining  about  something.  Morna  is  a  tonic,  not  a 
depressant.  It  does  me  a  world  of  good  just  to  see 
her  about." 

"  She  is  exceedingly  bright  and  — "  he  began  lamely, 
and  then  floundered :  "  I  wish  you  would  remember  me 
to  her." 

"  She  will  be  sorry  to  have  missed  seeing  you." 

"  Ahem !  Yes,  indeed, —  exceedingly  bright.  Sorry 
to  have  missed  seeing  her.  Kindly  remember  me  to  — • 
Well,  good  day,  Mrs.  Compton.  I  really  must  be  off. 


202  SHERRY 

I  told  Mr.  Gilman  I  wouldn't  be  gone  more  than  an 
hour.  Why,  it's  five  o'clock.  That  shows  how  enter- 
taining you  are,  Mrs.  Compton.  Hours  go  like  min- 
utes when  — " 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense,"  said  she,  smiling.  "  I  am 
quite  as  disappointed  as  you,  my  friend.  Next  time  tel- 
ephone out  beforehand  and  she'll  be  at  home,  and  not  in 
town  at  the  dressmaker's.  You  must  come  again  soon. 
By  the  way,  you  may  meet  her  on  the  road  coming 
home.  When  she  is  alone  she  invariably  comes  by  way 
of  the  lower  road  and  cuts  through  Compton's  Woods. 
It  appears  that  that  is  the  long  way  home." 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  and  paused  expectantly. 

"  The  chauffeur  is  off  for  the  day,  fishing,"  she  sup- 
plied, and  he  said  good-bye  from  the  gravel  walk,  half- 
way to  the  garden  gate. 

He  thought  it  all  out  as  he  drove  rapidly  down  the 
lane  to  the  highway.  Common-sense,  with  wrhich  he 
was  amply  supplied,  directed  him  to  take  the  shortest 
way  to  town,  and  that  was  over  the  turn-pike.  Inclina- 
tion ordered  him  into  the  less  frequented  dirt-roads 
of  Compton's  \Voods.  Common-sense,  backed  up  by  a 
certain  regard  for  his  own  dignity,,  prevailed.  He 
drove  past  the  road  leading  down  into  the  woods  and, 
calling  upon  all  the  speed  the  car  possessed,  resolutely 
fled  from  temptation. 

The  first  mile  of  his  incontinent  flight  produced  al- 
ternate moods  of  regret  and  satisfaction.  Pie  wished 
that  he  had  gone  by  way  of  the  woods  and  yet  was  glad 
that  he  hadn't.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  quite  possible 
that  Miss  O'Brien  would  not  derive  the  same  amount 
of  pleasure  from  the  meeting  as  he,  and  certainly  there 


SHERRY  203 

was  this  to  be  considered :  she  would  soon  be  by  way  of 
knowing  that  he  had  deliberately  planned  the  encoun- 
ter, and  he  had  no  reason  for  assuming  that  she  would 
be  gratified  by  the  very  marked  attention.  Indeed,  it 
was  not  unlikely  that  she  would  be  annoyed.  He  was 
nothing  to  her;  he  meant  but  little  in  her  life.  Why, 
therefore,  should  he  take  it  for  granted  that  she  would 
be  agreeably  affected  by  even  a  chance  meeting  with 
him?  And,  as  for  a  premeditated  meeting, —  why,  she 
was  just  as  likely  as  not  to  charge  it  to  unmitigated 
conceit  and  avoid  him  as  adroitly  as  possible  in  fu- 
ture. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  he,  courageous  and 
strong  of  body,  suddenly  became  extremely  faint  of 
heart.  To  be  sure,  he  had  not  much  of  an  argument 
to  put  up  for  himself.  He  certainly  had  nothing  to 
offer  in  the  way  of  proof  that  he  was  worthy  of  a  closer 
acquaintance  with  Morna  O'Brien,  or  any  other  care- 
fully brought-up  young  lady,  for  that  matter.  Six 
weeks  of  good  behaviour  and  clean  living  would  not  go 
very  far  toward  obliterating  the  record  of  as  many 
years  perniciously  spent  in  the  effort  to  become  as  un- 
worthy as  possible.  Miss  O'Brien  was  far  too  intelli- 
gent a  person,  far  too  sophisticated  to  accept  so  brief  a 
period  of  abstinence  as  proof  that  his  regeneration  was 
complete. 

His  cheek  burned  as  the  result  of  an  appalling  sus- 
picion that  he  had  placed  her  in  an  embarrassing  posi- 
tion by  accosting  her  on  the  streets  of  Farragut !  He 
had  not  thought  of  it  in  that  light  before.  Quite  nat- 
urally she  would  prefer  not  to  be  seen  talking  with  him 
in  public.  Other  girls  had  made  a  practice  of  avoid- 


204  SHERRY 

ing  him  for  years, —  and  properly,  he  was  fair  enough 
to  admit, —  so  why  should  he  take  it  for  granted  that 
Morna  O'Brien  felt  any  differently  toward  him  than 
they? 

As  he  sailed  along  at  top  speed  he  attempted  to  jus- 
tify the  inclination  to  take  the  road  through  Comp- 
ton's  Woods  by  contending  that  it  was  no  more  than 
right  that  he  should  let  Morna  know  that  her  grand- 
mother had  paid  a  visit  to  Andrew  Gilman's  house,  and 
that  there  was  something  decidedly  queer  about  it.  He 
was  assuming  that  it  would  be  news  to  Miss  O'Brien, 
and  that  while  Mrs.  Compton's  visit  in  the  broad  day- 
light of  a  September  afternoon  could  hardly  be  de- 
scribed as  surreptitious,  it  was  at  least  something  to  be 
concerned  about.  In  any  case,  Morna  ought  to  know 
about  it,  and  would  doubtless  thank  him  for  going  out 
of  his  way, —  indeed  for  putting  himself  to  consider- 
able inconvenience  —  to  — 

But  just  at  this  stage  of  his  cogitations  something 
happened  that  proved  beyond  all  question  that  he  was 
right,  if  not  inspired,  when  he  resisted  the  impulse  to 
profit  by  Mrs.  Compton's  hint.  A  sharp  turn  brought 
him  in  sight  of  two  automobiles,  stationary  at  the  road- 
side a  short  distance  ahead.  He  recognized  one  of  the 
oars  instantly ;  the  other  a  moment  later.  Two  people 
were  examining  the  engine  of  a  high-powered  red  road- 
ster,—  a  man  and  a  woman.  There  was  no  one  else  in 
sight,  unless  you  were  to  count  the  inevitable  small  boy 
who  always  appears  when  anything  happens  to  an  au- 
tomobile. This  small  boy  was  barefooted  and  carried 
a  fishing-pole  and  a  string  of  sunfish,  now  sadly  neg- 
lected and  parched  by  the  rays  of  the  sun.  He  had 


SHERRY  205 

no  bearing  on  the  situation  however.  Neither  of  the 
investigators  noticed  him.  He  might  just  as  well  have 
been  left  out  of  the  picture.  A  pair  of  heads  were  bent 
over  the  silent  engine:  one  bare  and  curly  and  blond, 
the  other  crowned  by  a  familiar  panania. 

They  looked  up  as  the  Gilman  car  came  rushing  down 
upon  them.  It  was  then  that  Redpath  recognized  the 
blond  curly-headed  one.  He  sounded  his  horn  in  what 
was  meant  to  be  a  courteous  warning,  but  for  some  rea- 
son the  miserable  thing  seemed  to  him  to  express  dis- 
approval, even  irritation.  He  slowed  down  and  was 
passing  them  at  a  snail's  pace. 

"  Any  help  ?  "  he  called  out. 

"  Oh,  it's  Mr.  Redpath !  "  cried  Morna  O'Brien. 

"  Hello,  Sherry,"  greeted  the  curly-headed  one. 
"  No,  thanks.  I  think  I  can  fix  her.  Thanks,  j  ust 
the  same." 

Without  intending  in  the  least  to  do  so,  Sherry 
brought  his  car  to  a  standstill.  He  could  have  cursed 
himself  the  instant  he  did  so, —  and  afterwards  did  say 
some  very  drastic  things  about  his  stupidity. 

"What's  the  matter  with  her?"  he  inquired.  (One 
always  provides  a  steamship,  a  locomotive  or  an  au- 
tomobile with  sex.) 

"  Don't  know,"  responded  young  Mr.  Burton,  and 
there  was  an  uneasy  gleam  in  his  sunny  blue  eyes. 
"  Something's  out  of  whack.  I'll  find  it  in  a  minute." 

"  I  found  him  here  quite  a  while  ago,"  explained  Miss 
O'Brien,  "  working  like  mad  over  — " 

"  I  was  in  a  terrible  hurry  to  get  home,"  broke  in 
Burton  uneasily.  "  Must  have  got  too  gay  with  the 
old  pile  of  junk.  Anyhow  she  died  on  me." 


206  SHERRY 

"  And  he  refuses  to  let  me  take  him  home  in  my  car 
and  send  some  one  back  for  his,"  said  Morna.  "  It's 
silly,  isn't  it?" 

Sherry  suddenly  grasped  the  situation.  Young 
Burton  was  playing  a  very  pretty  game.  The  present 
condition  of  his  engine  was  the  result  of  some  very 
clever  tinkering  on  his  part  prior  to  the  advent  of  Miss 
O'Brien. 

"  Let  me  have  a  look  at  it,"  he  said,  and  hopped  out 
of  his  own  car.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  wily  Mr. 
Burton's  chagrin.  He  was  quite  plainly  embarrassed. 

"  I  think  she's  slipped  a  — "  he  began,  and  a  plead- 
ing expression  came  into  his  eyes.  "  Never  mind, 
Redpath.  Don't  bother,  old  fellow.  I'll  let  Miss 
O'Brien  drop  me  at  — " 

"  I'll  take  you  ah1  the  way  home,  Mr.  Burton,"  said 
she  decisively.  "  It's  really  no  distance  at  all,  if  we 
cut  in  through  the  woods  just  below  here.  Do  you 
know  anything  about  the  mechanism  of  this  car,  Mr. 
Redpath?" 

"  I  ought  to  know,"  said  Sherry  grimly.  "  I  owned 
one  just  like  it,  same  model  and  everything."  He  was 
inspecting  the  intricate  wiring,  and  there  was  a  sly  grin 
on  his  lips.  Young  Burton  looked  on  in  dismay. 
"  When  did  it  happen,  Jimmy?  "  he  inquired,  glancing 
up  into  the  young  man's  eyes. 

"  About  a  half  an  hour  ago,"  replied  Jimmy,  man- 
aging to  .give  his  head  a  significant  shake  unseen  by 
Morna  —  and  to  add  a  very  secret  grimace  expressing 
confidence  in  the  fellowship  of  man.  "  Never  acted  like 
this  before." 

He  was  a  likable  chap,  and  abominably  good-looking. 


SHERRY  207 

Sherry  recalled  Morna's  lament  that  he  was  a  Burton. 
There  was  absolutely  nothing  the  matter  with  the  en- 
gine. A  bit  of  tape  and  two  minutes'  time  would  re- 
pair the  damage  that  unquestionably  had  been  inflicted 
by  the  engaging  and  resourceful  Mr.  Burton.  He  had 
trusted  to  Morna's  ignorance.  Any  one  who  knew  the 
first  thing  about  an  engine  would  have  detected  the 
trouble  at  once, —  just  as  Redpath  did,  for  example. 

"  Never  had  a  thing  like  this  happen  when  I  owned 
one  of  these  cars,"  said  Redpath,  enjoying  the  other's 
discomfiture.  "  Got  a  piece  of  tape?  " 

"Have  you  found  it,  Mr.  Redpath?  "  cried  Morna. 
He  may  have  been  mistaken,  but  he  thought  he  detected 
a  trace  of  disappointment  in  her  voice. 

"  He  knows  more  about  a  car  than  anybody  in  town," 
said  Jimmy,  giving  up  all  hope  and  paying  tribute. 

He  was  so  good-natured  about  it  when  he  might  have 
been  ill-tempered  and  cross  that  Redpath,  won  over 
by  the  frank  appeal  in  his  eyes,  withheld  the  exposure. 
It  was  in  his  power  to  spoil  this  well-laid  plan  of  the 
enterprising  and  ardent  Mr.  Burton, —  and  he  won- 
dered afterward  if  he  should  not  have  done  so  if  only 
for  the  sake  of  preserving  intact  the  feud  between  the 
Burton  and  Compton  families, —  but  he  was  too  good 
a  sport  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity.  More- 
over it  occurred  to  him  that  Morna  was  not  quite  as 
ignorant  as  she  professed  to  be.  She  probably  knew 
quite  as  well  as  either  he  or  Jimmy  Burton  just  what 
it  was  that  ailed  the  engine.  So,  frowning  dubiously, 
he  stepped  back  from  the  car. 

"  Looks  doubtful,  Jimmy,"  and  was  rewarded  by  an 
unmistakable  sigh  of  relief.  "  If  you  say  so,  I'll  stop 


208  SHERRY 

at  Nolan's  garage  and  have  him  send  out  a  machine  to 
pull  her  in." 

"  Thanks,  old  man, —  if  you'll  be  so  kind.  Mighty 
good  of  you,  Sherry.  I'll  do  as  much  for  you  some 
time." 

"  If  I  ever  give  you  the  chance,"  said  Sherry,  signifi- 
cantly, and  turned  to  Miss  O'Brien. 

She  was  regarding  him  curiously.  The  instant  his 
steady,  mocking  eyes  met  hers,  she  flushed  and,  after 
a  second  or  two,  turned  away  —  guiltily,  he  was  pleased 
to  decide. 

"  I  dropped  in  to  see  Mrs.  Compton.  She  said  you 
always  came  home  through  the  woods." 

"  And  so  you  took  the  high-road,"  she  said  sweetly, 
meeting  his  gaze  once  more.  There  was  an  ominous 
cloud  in  her  eyes.  "  I  suppose  you  are  always  in  a 
hurry  these  days,  so  full  of  business  and  all  that." 

"  I  was  late,"  he  explained,  suddenly  feeling  like  a 
fool. 

Jimmy  was  busily  engaged  with  the  magneto.  A 
close  observer  might  have  noticed  that  his  ears  were 
very  red. 

She  whirled  abruptly  and  walked  to  her  own  car  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  road.  Redpath  hesitated  an 
instant  and  then  followed. 

"  Let  me  help  you  up,"  he  said,  at  her  elbow. 

"  I  am  not  decrepit,"  she  exclaimed,  and  slid  easily 
into  the  driver's  seat.  Then  she  leaned  over  and  said 
to  him  in  a  low  voice :  "  I  don't  want  you  to  think 
that  either  one  of  you  has  fooled  me.  I  know  what's 
the  matter  with  his  bally  old  car, —  and  you  know,  and 
he  knows.  So  good-bye,  Mr.  Redpath.  Good-bye, 


SHERRY  209 

Mr.  Burton.  I'm  so  glad  to  have  seen  you  again. 
Sorry  you  won't  let  me  drive  you  home.  Perhaps  if 
you  and  Mr.  Redpath  get  your  heads  together  you 
may  discover  what  the  matter  is, —  and  it  will  not  be 
necessary  to  have  Nolan  tow  you  in." 

In  went  the  clutch,  there  was  a  vast  roar  from  the 
exhaust,  and  then  the  car  leaped  forward  with  a  bound. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  — "  began  Jimmy  blankly.  For  a  full 
minute  the  two  of  them  stood  in  the  road  watching  the 
car.  It  took  the  turn  at  a  dangerously  high  rate  of 
speed,  and  then  Jimmy  sat  down  suddenly  on  the  run- 
ning board  of  the  red  deceiver.  "  Damned  queer  the 
way  girls  act  sometimes,  Redpath.  She  was  as  nice  as 
pie  to  me  until  —  er  — "  He  paused,  eyeing  his  com- 
panion critically. 

"  Until  we  all  found  each  other  out,"  said  Redpath. 
"  I'm  sorry  if  I  butted  in  and  spoiled  — " 

"  Lord,  you  didn't  spoil  anything.  I  couldn't  have 
carried  it  so  far  as  to  let  her  take  me  home,  you  know. 
That  would  have  been  rotten.  You  think  she  knew 
what  the  matter  was  all  the  time?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  by  gosh,  she  fooled  me  all  right.  I  never 
saw  any  one  who  could  act  as  ignorant  about  a  car  as 
she  did.  You'd  think  she  never  had  seen  the  inside  of 
a  hood  before." 

"  That  is  a  way  they  all  have,"  said  Redpath,  sen- 
tentiously. 

Jimmy  Burton  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Then,  why  the 
dickens  did  she  string  me  along  for  half  an  hour,  help- 
ing me  with  the  tools,  and  suggesting  all  sorts  of  — " 

"  I  must  be  on  my  way,  Jimmy,"  broke  in  the  other, 


210  SHERRY 

looking  at  his  watch.  "  You've  got  a  lot  to  learn 
about  women.  They've  just  got  to  act  ignorant. 
They  go  on  the  principle  that  you  can't  possibly  be  in- 
terested in  a  thing  after  you  once  know  all  there  is  to 
know  about  it.  For  instance,  she  wouldn't  have  been 
half  so  happy  this  afternoon  if  she  had  let  you  see  right 
off  the  bat  that  she  was  on  to  the  fact  that  you  had 
jerked  that  wire  out  of  kilter  on  purpose.  I'll  admit  it 
would  have  been  the  intelligent  thing  to  do,  but  that's 
where  they  are  so  darned  much  smarter  than  we  are. 
They  know  when  and  how  to  appear  ignorant.  So 
long,  Jimmy.  Better  luck  next  time." 

He  climbed  into  the  car.  Jimmy  came  over  and 
leaned  on  the  spare  tires. 

"  By  the  way,  Sherry,"  he  said  soberly,  "  I  suppose 
you  know  there  is  a  devil  of  a  feud  between  her  family 
and  mine.  Been  going  on  for  God  knows  how  many 
years.  I  don't  see  why  she  and  I  should  respect  that 
feud,  though;  do  you?  We  didn't  cook  it  up.  A  lot 
of  crabbed  old  pirates  back  in  the  Dark  Ages  fussed 
about  some  land,  that's  all.  There'd  be  an  earthquake 
in  our  family  burying  ground  if  the  news  ever  reached 
it  that  I'd  been  friendly  with  a  Compton.  They'd  all 
turn  over  at  once,  and,  Lord,  there's  a  lot  of  'em. 
Old  Mrs.  Compton  thinks  I'm  a  nice  sort  of  chap, 
but  she  doesn't  know  my  name  is  Burton.  Would  you 
mind  not  mentioning  it  to  her,  in  case  you  see  her, — " 

"  I'll  certainly  not  betray  you,  Jimmy,"  said  Red- 
path,  laughing.  "  If  Miss  O'Brien  doesn't  think  it  ad- 
visable to  mention  it,  it  isn't  my  place  to  do  it." 

"  She's  a  corker,  isn't  she?  "  beamed  the  infatuated 
Jimmy. 


SHERRY 

"  She  is,"  said  Sherry. 

He  was  half  a  mile  nearer  town  when  he  looked  back 
over  his  shoulder.  Jimmy  Burton  was  rounding  the 
bend  in  the  road,  going  at  top  speed.  He  sighed  and 
set  his  face  homeward.  He  was  depressed.  There  was 
no  use  trying  to  convince  himself  that  he  was  not  de- 
pressed. Indeed,  he  rather  encouraged  the  condition. 
It  was  a  distinct  pleasure  to  feel  sorry  for  himself. 

After  all,  as  Burton  had  remarked,  why  should  this 
fresh  young  generation  be  governed  by  the  cantanker- 
ous old  "  pirates  "  whose  bones  were  lying  insecurely  in 
two  separate  and  distinct  graveyards?  Why  should 
they  be  enemies?  They  had  no  quarrel  with  each 
other ;  they  certainly  were  not  old  and  cantankerous. 
They  were  young  and  they  were  interested  in  each 
other,  not  in  a  fifty  year  old  dispute. 

Yes,  he  was  properly  depressed.  It  was  all  very 
clear  to  him.  Nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  that 
Morna  should  fall  in  love  with  Jimmy  Burton, —  if  in- 
deed she  had  not  already  done  so.  Jimmy's  state  of 
mind  was  not  even  doubtful.  He  was  heels  over  head 
in  love  with  her.  And  why  not  ?  Now  that  he  thought 
of  it  soberly,  why  not?  Falling  in  love  with  Morna 
O'Brien  was  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world.  He  real- 
ized it  perfectly  now.  Nothing  could  be  simpler. 

"  Hang  it  all,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  I  wish  I  had 
taken  the  road  through  the  woods.  I  would  have  slept 
better  tonight,  that's  a  cinch." 

Sitting  all  alone  on  the  porch  after  supper  that  eve- 
ning he  went  over  the  situation  calmly, —  but  argu- 
mentatively.  He  brought  forward  incontrovertible 
facts  and  then  deliberately  argued  within  himself 


against  them.  Jimmy  Burton  was  a  splendid  fellow, 
but  was  he  the  right  man  for  Morna  to  marry  ?  He  was 
rich,  but  would  it  not  be  better  for  her  to  marry  a  poor 
man?  A  poor  and  ambitious  man?  Jimmy  was  good- 
looking, —  there  was  no  getting  away  from  that, —  but 
good  looks  often  lead  men  into  entanglements.  He  had 
no  bad  habits,  but  was  it  safe  to  marry  a  fellow  who  had 
not  sown  at  least  a  fair  share  of  oats?  When  men 
start  out  to  sow  them  late  in  life  they  don't  get  through 
with  the  reaping  as  expeditiously  as  they  might  have 
done  in  youth.  He  had  gone  to  college,  but  it  was  a 
Middle  Western  college  unrecognized  by  the  board  of 
governors  of  the  University  Club  in  New  York.  (Here 
Redpath  struck  a  snag.  He  was  not  a  snob.  He  was 
not  so  sure  that  it  was  an  advantage  to  have  come  out 
of  an  Eastern  college.)  Somehow  he  had  got  it  into 
his  head  that  one  cannot  sow  wild  oats  in  a  Western 
college. 

But  all  of  his  arguments  fell  down  before  a  single  dev- 
astating equation :  Morna's  obvious  liking  for  the  much- 
to-be-despised  Jimmy  Burton.  It  was  only  too  evident 
that  she  was  not  adverse  to  stealing  fruit ;  the  events  of 
the  afternoon  established  her  guilt  in  that  respect  be- 
yond a  reasonable  doubt.  She  was  even  more  culpable 
than  her  ingenious  admirer,  for  she  took  advantage  of 
his  ignorance.  (That  is  to  say,  his  ignorance  touching 
upon  her  intelligence  in  the  matter  of  automobile  en- 
gines.) It  was  quite  plain  that  she  was  enjoying  her- 
self immensely  up  to  the  moment  of  interruption. 

And  then,  when  all  else  was  said  and  done,  had  not 
her  own  mother  played  hob  with  the  family  underpin- 
ning by  marrying  beneath  it?  Not  only  had  she  mar- 


SHERRY  213 

ried  an  Irish  farm-hand,  but  she  had  done  so  in  a 
church  that  every  member  of  her  family  abhorred. 
The  same  blood  flowed  in  Morna's  veins.  What  the 
mother  did,  so  also  would  the  daughter  do  if  she  set  her 
mind  to  it.  Jimmy  Burton  was  supposed  to  be  a  life- 
long enemy;  therefore  a  most  conspicuous  prize  to 
be  taken  single-handed.  Family  feelings  be  hanged! 
That's  what  Morna  would  say, —  and,  if  Redpath  knew 
his  man  as  well  as  he  thought  he  did,  that  also  is  pre- 
cisely what  Jimmy  Burton  would  say.  , 

He  went  to  bed  that  night  firmly  convinced  that  some 
morning  he  would  wake  up  to  find  the  newspapers  run- 
ning over  with  the  news  of  a  fresh  complication  in  the 
Compton-Burton  controversy.  Staring  him  in  the  face 
would  be  the  headlines  telling  of  the  elopement  of  Morna 
O'Brien  and  James  Burton  1 


CHAPTER  XVII 

'"W  "W"  T  ELL,  this  is  something  like  it,"  observed  old 
\  /\  I  Judge  Emmons,  inserting  his  venerable  body 

y  T  between  that  of  a  paying  patron  from  Chi- 
cago,—  a  man  in  the  leather  trade, —  and  the  most  pro- 
ductive steam  radiator  in  the  lobby  of  the  Tremont. 
"  Boy,  push  that  chair  in  here  for  me,  will  you?  Look 
out  for  your  feet,  Mister.  These  boys  are  mighty 
careless." 

Taking  his  seat,  with  his  knees  well  up  against  the 
coils,  the  old  gentleman  wiped  the  frost  from  his  spec- 
tacles, all  the  while  peering  blindly  in*  the  direction  of 
a  vague  collection  of  human  forms, —  (without  his 
"  specs  "  he  couldn't  say  how  many  there  were  in  the 
group), —  uncertain  whether  he  enjoyed  the  distinction 
of  being  the  only  one  of  the  chronic  habitues  of  the 
"  corner  "  who  had  had  the  hardihood  to  venture  down 
town  in  the  face  of  the  first  snow  storm  of  the  year. 

The  leather  salesman  glared  at  the  ruddy-faced  old 
man  for  a  moment,  and  was  on  the  point  of  venting  a 
sarcastic  Chicago  opinion  on  the  habits  of  hayseed? 
when  he  encountered  the  genial,  overpowering  smile  of 
the  ancient  who  had  summarily  crowded  him  out  of  his 
position  before  the  radiator.  No  one  could  resist  the 
judge's  smile, —  not  even  a  travelling  salesman  paying 
the  full  three  dollar  rate  at  the  best  hotel  in  town. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  went  on  the  judge,  engagingly,  "  it's  like 

it  used  to  be  when  I  was  a  youngster.     We  used  to  have 

214 


SHERRY  215 

snow  as  early  as  October  and,  dang  me,  if  we  couldn't 
sleigh  from  that  day  to  the  end  of  March.  Snow  two 
feet  deep  over  everything  —  and  permanent.  Some 
say  that  the  telephone  and  electric  lights  are  the  cause 
of  the  change  that's  come  over  the  weather  in  the  last 
twenty  years.  Electricity  absorbs  the  climate,  or  some- 
thing like  that.  Nineteen  years  ago  this  very  day  we 
had  a  blizzard  here  that  was  a  twister,  gentlemen.  I 
take  it  you  gentlemen  are  strangers  in  Farragut,  so 
you  wouldn't  be  by  way  of  knowing  how  the  seasons 
have  changed  in  this  section  covering  the  last, —  Has 
anybody  seen  Amos  P.  Adams  about  this  morning? 
He  keeps  a  record  of  the  weather,  day  in,  day  out  the 
year  'round.  I'd  like  to  ask  him  to  testify  to  the  truth 
of  what  I'm—" 

"  The  seasons  have  changed  everywhere,  sir,"  said 
the  leather  salesman  agreeably, —  much  to  his  own  sur- 
prise, for  he  hated  being  polite  to  any  one  living  in  the 
"  burgs "  he  had  to  "  make "  three  times  a  year. 
"  Same  in  Chicago.  Autumn  lingers  in  the  lap  of  win- 
ter — " 

"As  I  was  saying,"  interrupted  the  judge, —  and 
still  the  gentleman  in  the  leather  trade  refrained, — 
"  we  haven't  had  a  blizzard  this  early  in  the  year  since 
ninety-four.  Lucky  if  we  get  any  snow  before  Christ- 
mas, and  as  for  sleighing, —  well  if  there's  more'n  two 
weeks  of  it  all  told  everybody  thinks  we've  had  a  devil 
of  a  hard  and  cruel  winter.  I  don't  know  what's  come 
over  the  universe.  Everything  goes  by  contraries  in 
these  days.  Just  when  you  think  we're  going  to  have  a 
nice  spell  of  spring  weather  it  turns  in  and  snows  so 
hard  you  can't  remember  when  you've  ever  seen  it  snow 


216  SHERRY 

harder,  and  then  just  as  you've  got  the  danged  stuff 
shovelled  off  the  sidewalks  it  turns  in  and  melts  so 
quick  you're  likely  to  drown  before  you  can  get  back 
into  the  house.  A  man  don't  know  what  to  do  these 
days.  Middle  of  January  you  go  down  town  with  your 
ear-muffs  on  and  a  piece  of  newspaper  over  your  chest 
and,  by  gosh,  before  you  know  it  you've  sweat  so  hard 
you  have  to  peel  the  paper  off  and  —  No,  sir,  it's  ab- 
solutely impossible  to  freeze  your  ears  in  January  now- 
adays. You've  got  to  wait  till  June.  \Vhy,  last  sum- 
mer I  wore  my  heaviest  underwear  right  up  to  the 
Fourth  of  July,  and  I  wouldn't  have  changed  'em  then 
if  I  hadn't  gone  to  bed  with  the  grippe  and  it  turned  off 
boiling  hot  before  I  could  get  out  again.  You  say 
you're  from  Chicago,  my  friend?  " 

"  Yes,  sir, —  Chicago  is  my  home.  Ever  get  up 
there?" 

"  I  don't  like  Chicago,"  said  Judge  Emmons  bluntly. 
"  Give  me  Indianapolis  every  time.  Twenty  years  from 
now  Indianapolis  will  be  the  greatest  city  west  of  the 
Alleghenies.  Chicago  ain't  located  just  right.  It's 
—  but,  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  I  oughtn't  to  run 
down  your  city  — " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  Chicago  can  stand  it,"  said  the  leather 
salesman,  smilingly.  "  Have  you  been  up  there 
lately?" 

The  judge  reflected.  "  Last  time  I  was  there  was  in 
sixty-seven.  As  I  said  before,  I  don't  like  the  town, 
so  why  should  I  go  there  —  if  I  can  help  it?  " 

"  Haven't  been  there  since  the  great  fire,  then  ?  " 

"  Nope.  But  we  could  see  the  smoke  of  that  fire 
clear  down  here.  Lasted  several  days  and  — " 


SHERRY  217 

"  Perhaps  you'd  like  Chicago  better  if  you  were  to 
run  up  and  see  what  we've  been  doing  in  the  last  forty- 
five  years." 

"  Oh,  I've  heard  how  you've  grown  into  the  millions 
—  that  is,  you  claim  you  have,  but  I  doubt  it, —  and  I 
know  all  about  your  big  sky-scrapers  and  the  World's 
Fair.  I  got  a  portfolio  of  views  of  the  Fair  with  a 
year's  subscription  to  the  Dispatch,  by  the  way.  But 
nothing  can  convince  me  that  it's  got  the  legitimate 
foundation  that  Indianapolis  has.  Take  for  instance 
the  central  location  of  the  city  I  mention.  It's  almost 
in  the  center  of  the  United  States  so  far  as  population 
is  concerned;  it's  almost  in  the  middle  of  the  State  of 
Indiana,  and  —  By  the  way,  sir,  have  you  any  idea 
how  many  railroads  run  into  Indianapolis  ?  " 

"  I  have  not.  I  don't  know  how  many  railroads  are 
obliged  to  cross  Indiana  in  order  to  get  to  Chicago." 

The  sarcasm  went  over  the  judge's  head.  If  he  had 
noticed  it  he  merely  would  have  accepted  it  as  another 
reason  for  despising  Chicago. 

"  Well,  sir,  there  are  exactly  —  let  me  see,  now,  how 
many  are  there?  I  did  know,  but  somehow  —  at  any 
rate,  there  are  so  derned  many  they  had  to  build  a  new 
Union  Station  a  few  years  back.  I  guess  you've  seen 
the  new  station,  travelling  as  you  do.  They  tell  me  it's 
a  whopper.  I  used  to  get  over  to  Indianapolis  every 
once  in  so  often,  but  lately  I  haven't  felt  up  to  the 
trip.  You  might  not  suspect  it,  my  friend, —  let  me 
see,  what  did  you  say  your  name  was  ?  " 

"  Carpenter,"  supplied  the  leather  salesman,  wink- 
ing at  the  listeners. 

"  There's    a    Carpenter    family   here    in    Farragut, 


218  SHERRY 

Newcomers,  however.  Not  by  any  chance  related,  I 
suppose?  No,  I  thought  not.  As  I  was  saying,  you 
might  not  suspect  it  but  I  am  eighty-six  years  and  a 
few  weeks  old.  Never  had  a  sick  day  in  my  life. 
Smoked  and  chewed  and  —  er  —  imbibed  ever  sinoe  I 
was  sixteen.  Bourbon  is  what  I  invariably  take. 
What  say?" 

"  I  didn't  say  anything." 

"  Ahem !  I  thought  you  —  er  —  somebody  spoke. 
Yes,  it  started  in  snowing  at  four  o'clock  this  morning," 
sighed  the  judge.  "  Thermometer  went  down  twenty- 
eight  degrees  last  night.  I  don't  know  when  I've  felt 
a  colder  wind  than  there  is  this  morning.  Cuts  right 
through  to  the  bone.  Ordinarily  we  don't  get  any 
snappy  weather  here  before  Thanksgiving,  and  here  it 
is  only  the  ninth  of  November.  I  shouldn't  be  sur- 
prised if  we  had  a  long,  hard  winter.  They  tell  me  the 
climate  in  Chicago  is  the  worst  in  the  United  States. 
Is  that  so?" 

"  It  is  the  best  in  the  United  States,  sir.     We  — " 

"  Feller  in  here  from  New  York  the  other  day  was 
saying  there  wasn't  any  climate  at  all  in  the  United 
States  outside  of  his  town.  It's  hard  to  know  who  to 
believe.  I  haven't  much  use  for  New  Yorkers.  They 
don't  think  there's  anything  west  of  the  Hudson  River. 
Why,  there's  a  man  right  here  in  this  town, —  a  feller 
named  Letts,  superintendent  of  the  street-car  line, — 
who  never  will  get  over  the  fact  that  he  lived  in  New 
York  up  to  the  time  he  got  this  job.  That  was  twelve 
years  ago,  and  he  still  keeps  his  watch  set  eastern  time. 
If  you  ask  him  what  time  it  is  he  says  *  it's  four  o'clock 
in  New  York,'  and  then  he  seems  to  calculate  a  second 


SKERRY  219 

or  two, —  as  if  it  was  hard  to  remember  where  he  is, — 
before  he  can  decide  that  it's  three  o'clock  here.  As  I 
was  saying  a  minute  ago,  if  a  man  will  stick  to  Bourbon, 
—  or  rye,  if  he  prefers  it, —  and  never  touch  a  mixed 
drink,  he  ought  to  live  to  be  ninety.  It's  this  thing  of 
mixin' —  How?  Well,  it's  a  leetle  early  in  the  day  for 
me  —  but,  seeing  as  it's  you,  a  stranger  in  a  strange 
land,  sir,  I  -will  join  you.  Right  this  way,  sir."  And 
the  judge  led  the  way  into  the  bar. 

All  of  this  preamble  is  merely  intended  to  establish 
the  fact  that  an  unprecedented  change  in  the  weather 
had  fallen  upon  Farragut.  A  balmy  yesterday,  a 
blighting  today.  The  thick  wet  snow  of  the  early 
morning  hours  was  reduced  soon  after  daybreak  by  an 
everfalling  temperature  to  a  fine  sleet  that  whizzed 
through  the  air  with  biting  force.  Wires  were  down, 
street-cars  blocked,  time-tables  disrupted.  In  every 
house  in  town  there  was  a  mad  scramble  for  last  win- 
ter's flannels ;  heavy  overcoats  were  yanked  out  of  dark 
closets  and  chests,  smelling  of  moth  balls;  arctics  and 
mufflers  went  to  proper  extremities ;  pale  noses  bloomed 
with  the  glow  of  health,  broad  shoulders  and  straight 
backs  withered  as  with  the  plague,  and  fierce  were  the 
execrations  of  the  unprepared. 

Pneumonia  weather,  proclaimed  every  one  in  Farra- 
gut capable  of  expression.  Doctors  and  druggists  and 
undertakers  brightened  up  perceptibly.  They  pulled 
long  faces,  of  course,  and  looked  grave,  but  they  fooled 
no  one.  The  ill-wind  was  blowing  for  them. 

By  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  snow  ceased  fall- 
ing, but  the  wind  still  blew  a  gale.  It  was  then  that  an 
amazing  thing  occurred, —  or  rather  began  to  occur. 


220 

Men  equipped  with  snowshovels  appeared  on  the  side- 
walks abutting  the  various  properties  of  Andrew  Gil- 
man,  and  before  the  incredulous  observers  fully  appre- 
ciated what  had  happened  they  were  swept  and  scraped 
and  furbished  into  a  state  of  cleanliness  that  suggested 
a  trick  on  the  part  of  Nature  in  that  you  would  have 
sworn  that  snow  fell  everywhere  in  town  except  in 
front  of  buildings  owned  by  the  despised  Andy  Gee. 
Small  segments  of  Main  Street,  Church  Street,  and  Lin- 
coln Street,  in  the  business  section  of  the  city,  were 
cleared  as  if  by  magic,  while  long  stretches  of  sidewalk 
bounding  vacant  lots  in  obscure  streets  were  treated  in 
the  same  manner  by  briskly  handled  implements,  di- 
rected by  a  tall  young  man  who  herded  his  labourers 
from  place  to  place  with  all  the  push  and  authority  of 
a  Prussian  general. 

Andrew  Gilman  owned  no  fewer  than  fifty  separate 
pieces  of  property  within  the  city  limits.  Most  of 
them  were  improved,  and  heretofore  had  depended  on 
the  moods  and  inclinations  of  tenants  for  the  process 
that  was  now  going  on.  Properties  owned  by  the  rich- 
est man  in  town  always  had  been  the  last  to  respond  to 
the  thaw  that  is  bound,  soon  or  late,  to  do  the  work  of 
man.  Snow  and  ice  caked  on  his  sidewalks  so  com- 
pactly that  an  unusual  spell  of  warm  weather  was  nec- 
essary to  restore  them  to  their  normal  condition. 
Certain  places, —  such  as  the  long  stretch  of  unoccu- 
pied ground  on  Elm  Street  lined  with  an  immense  row 
of  bill-boards  which  baffled  the  energies  of  the  afternoon 
sun, —  were  so  perilously  slippery  for  weeks  after  the 
snow  storms  that  pedestrians  preferred  to  walk  in  the 
street  rather  than  to  risk  their  bones  on  the  sidewalks. 


SHERRY 

No  one  in  Farragut  expected  Andrew  Gilman  to 
clean  the  snow  from  his  sidewalks.  He  always  waited 
for  the  city,  the  tenant,  or  the  sun  to  do  it.  That  was 
understood.  It  had  been  going  on  for  fifty  years. 
And  now  here  he  was  scraping  the  snow  off  before  it 
had  fairly  settled  on  the  ground !  A  great  many  peo- 
ple said  that  the  world  was  coming  to  an  end.  Others 
took  Sheridan  Redpath  aside  and  asked  him  what  he 
meant  by  spending  his  own  hard-earned  money  clean- 
ing up  Andrew  Gilman's  sidewalks. 

A  New  York  travelling  salesman,  impressed  by  the 
swift  removal  of  snow  from  the  sidewalks  just  east  and 
west  of  the  Tremont,  said  that  it  reminded  him  of  the 
only  city  in  the  world,  and  was  instantly  involved  in  an 
altercation  with  the  leather  drummer  from  Chicago, 
who  said  that  a  snow-storm  as  big  as  this  would  para- 
lyse traffic  on  Fifth  Avenue  for  six  weeks.  Quite  a 
crowd  collected. 

When  Sherry  Redpath  crawled  out  of  bed  at  half- 
past  seven  o'clock  that  morning  the  swirling  snow- 
storm met  his  sleepy  eyes.  The  trees  were  draped  in 
white,  the  ground  was  covered,  the  street  below  was  al- 
most obscured  from  view  by  the  veil  of  wind-swept  snow. 
The  gardener  was  trying  to  clear  a  path  from  the 
front  steps  to  the  gate  below, —  a  futile  and  ill-consid- 
ered undertaking,  for  his  work  was  soon  to  be  rendered 
void  by  the  ceaseless  fall  and  drift.  As  soon  as  he  was 
dressed  he  sallied  forth  and  stopped  the  man. 

"  Wait  till  it  quits  snowing,  Joe.  Save  you  a  lot  of 
elbow  grease."  And  Joe  was  glad  to  stop. 

Mr.  Gilman  was  at  the  breakfast  table  when  Red- 
path  came  in  from  the  porch. 


222  SHERRY 

"  I  found  Joe  shovelling  away  for  dear  life,  Mr.  Gil- 
man,  and  making  no  headway,  so  I  told  him  to  postpone 
the  job  for  awhile.  It's  still  snowing  to  beat  the  dick- 
ens. Nothing  like  this  has  happened  since  I  can  re- 
member. A  blizzard  in  — " 

"  You  ordered  him  to  stop?  "  said  Andrew  Gilman, 
his  eyes  narrowing. 

"  Yes,  sir.  He'd  have  it  all  to  do  over  again  before 
twelve  o'clock  if  this  keeps  up." 

An  odd  half-smile  flickered  in  the  old  man's  eyes. 
"  I  had  just  set  him  to  work,"  said  he  drily.  "  You 
appear  to  have  more  sense  than  either  Joe  or  I." 

Sherry  flushed.     "  I'm  sorry  if  I  have  — " 

"It  is  all  right,  my  boy.  Sit  down.  Breakfast 
should  taste  unusually  good  this  morning.  I  find  I  en- 
joy my  victuals  better  in  cold  weather  than  at  an}T 
other  time.  There's  a  snap  to  the  appetite,  and  there 
seems  to  be  a  real  reason  for  eating.  I'm  glad  3-011 
stopped  the  simpleton.  He  hasn't  much  intelligence." 

Apparently  in  the  best  of  humours  now,  the  old  man 
held  forth  on  the  astonishing  turn  the  weather  had 
taken,  going  back  over  a  stretch  of  thirty  years  for  a 
prototype.  Suddenly  the  young  man  broke  in  upon 
his  reminiscences  with  a  proposition  so  bold  that  he  fal- 
tered before  the  words  were  fully  released. 

"  See  here,  Mr.  Gilman,  I've  been  thinking  of  some- 
thing that  we  ought  to  do  the  minute  this  storm  is  over. 
We  ought  to  get  a  gang  of  men  together  and  clear  the 
snow  from  the  sidewalks  in  front  of  your  property,  all 
over  town." 

Mr.  Gilman  started.  In  fact,  he  gasped.  "  You 
don't  know  what  that  means,  my  young  friend.  I've 


SHERRY  223 

never  undertaken  so  stupendous  a  job  as  that  in — " 

"  It  isn't  much  of  a  job  if  we  take  it  in  time.  I'll 
get  the  men  and  superintend  the  work.  We  can  clear 
'em  all  off  in  two  or  three  hours.  I've  always  main- 
tained that  if  all  property  owners  did  that  sort  of 
thing  we'd  have  a  better  town,  a  better  citizenry  and  — 
better  feeling  all  around." 

"  But  I've  never  done  it.  I  don't  see  any  reason  for 
spending  money  on  such  things  as  that.  This  snow 
will  melt,  just  as  it  always  does.  Civic  pride,  that's 
what  you  mean,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  is  what  I  mean,"  said  Sherry  bluntly. 

Mr.  Gilman  leaned  forward  and  eyed  his  secretary 
keenly.  "  What  put  this  notion  into  your  head?  " 

"  I've  always  felt  this  way  about  it.  People  ought 
to  clear  their  sidewalks." 

"  But  they  never  do,"  said  the  other.  "  I  am  no 
worse  than  the  rest  of  them.  We're  all  alike." 

"  That's  no  reason  why  we  should  let  the  snow  and  ice 
pile  up  on  the  sidewalks,  Mr.  Gilman.  It  isn't  safe,  and 
heaven  knows  it  stamps  us  as  a  jay  town  in  the  eyes  of 
outsiders." 

"  So  you  suggest  that  I  inaugurate  the  movement  to 
stamp  out  this  opinion  of  outsiders?" 

"  You  are  the  biggest  property  owner  in  Farragut. 
If  you  begin  it, —  well,  you'll  see  the  others  following 
suit  in  no  time.  They'll  be  shamed  into  it." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  the  old  man  grimly. 
"  You  don't  know  this  town  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  A  great  many  property  owners  do  clean  their  side- 
walks, sir,"  said  Sherry.  "  You  hare  never  done  it. 
That's  why  I  suggest  that  we  — " 


SHERRY 

"  Just  a  moment.  Tell  me  what  is  really  at  the  bot- 
tom of  this  idea  of  yours." 

"  Well,  to  be  perfectly  frank  about  it,  ever  since  I 
can  remember  anything  at  all,  I've  heard  people  say 
that  it  was  a  disgrace  the  way  you  let  the  ice  and  snow 
lay  in  front  of  your  unimproved  properties.  I  may 
as  well  add  that  I  have  said  it  myself." 

"  And  you  want  to  begin  at  this  late  hour  to  reform 
the  town's  meanest  man?  A  rather  stupendous  under- 
taking, my  friend." 

"  Never  too  late  to  mend,  sir,"  said  Sherry  coolly. 

The  result  of  this  plain  discussion  was  the  appear- 
ance on  the  streets  of  a  gang  of  able-bodied  men,  bossed 
by  the  town's  one-time  scapegrace,  and  a  subsequent 
change  of  tactics  by  every  charitable  organization  in 
Farragut.  Andrew  Oilman's  spectacular  change  of 
heart  filled  his  mail  with  requests  for  subscriptions  to 
all  sorts  of  benevolences,  with  some  hope  of  success  in 
the  breasts  of  the  senders  who  cheerfully  believed  that 
softening  of  the  brain  had  set  in  at  last, —  and  every  one 
knows  that  a  pronounced  symptom  of  the  affliction  is 
an  unbridled  ambition  to  spend  money.  Such  being  the 
case,  now  was  the  proper  time  to  engage  Mr.  Oilman's 
interest,  for  a  little  later  on  he  would  have  a  conserva- 
tor. 

No  one  was  more  surprised  than  Andy  Gee  himself. 
He  wandered  about  the  house  all  day  like  a  lost  soul. 
He  never  glanced  at  the  big  old  clock  in  the  library 
without  experiencing  a  vague  impulse  to  slip  into  his 
overcoat  and  sally  forth  into  the  streets  and  put  a  stop 
to  the  silly,  quixotic  enterprise  now  under  way.  Times 
there  were  when  he  stood  stockstill  and  wondered  if  it 


SHERRY  225 

could  really  be  true  that  he  had  permitted  a  young,  pre- 
sumptuous cub  like  Sherry  Redpath  to  dictate  a  policy 
that  had  been  so  rigidly  opposed  for  more  than  two 
score  years.  Then  he  would  smile  sadly,  shake  his 
head  and  resume  his  objectless  peregrinations.  He 
could  not  read.  He  could  not  concentrate  on  anything 
except  this  amazing,  unnatural  event. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  away  he  found  himself  en- 
gaged in  frequent,  and  admittedly  inane,  efforts  to  de- 
termine by  calculation  the  exact  location  of  his  force  of 
snow-shovellers.  Supposing  they  began  operations  at 
Main  and  Seventh  streets,  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of 
Elaine's  dry  goods  store,  and  supposing  they  were 
driven  as  hard  as  he  would  have  driven  them,  they 
would,  at  four  o'clock,  as  near  as  he  could  figure  it  out, 
be  working  on  the  southwest  corner  of  Dorset  and  Polk 
streets,  cleaning  snow  off  of  the  pavement  in  front  of 
three  unimproved  lots.  At  half-past  four  they  un- 
doubtedly would  be  in  front  of  the  residence  of  James 
Forbes  in  California  Avenue, —  and  so  on  throughout 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  city.  He  groaned  faintly 
as  he  thought  of  the  tenement  houses  in  the  lower  part 
of  town.  Would  the  vigorous,  inspired  Redpath  con- 
sider it  his  duty  to  look  after  the  sidewalks  down  there  ? 

The  evening  paper  came  at  five  o'clock.  He  watched 
the  boy  plough  his  way  up  from  the  gate  through  the 
banks  of  snow,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  pitied 
the  youngster  who  had  been  leaving  papers  on  his  door- 
Step,  morning  and  night,  in  all  kinds  of  weather,  for  the 
past  three  or  four  years.  This  house  of  his  was  the 
most  outlying  on  the  boy's  long  route:  he  traversed 
four  or  five  blocks  of  subcriber-less  territorv  in  order 


223  SHERRY 

to  deliver  his  last  remaining  paper  to  a  man  he  despised 
and  feared.  \ 

Andrew  Oilman  met  him  at  the  door.  "  Come  in  and 
get  warm,  sonny,"  he  said  kindly.  The  boy  stared, 
open-mouthed.  "  I  mean  it.  Your  feet  are  wet  and 
your  face  looks  half-frozen." 

"  I  can't,"  said  the  boy,  blinking.  "  I  got  to  go 
home  and  shovel  the  snow  off'n  our  sidewalk." 

"  Where  do  you  live?  " 

"  Banks  Street.  One  of  your  houses,  Mr.  Gil- 
man." 

"Banks  Street?  Let  me  think.  By  this  time  they 
ought  to  be  —  I  guess  you'll  find  the  snow  all  cleaned 
off  by  the  time  you  get  home,  my  lad,"  he  said,  not 
without  a  touch  of  pride  in  his  voice.  "  My  men  are 
at  work  now,  cleaning  it  away  —  everywhere.  I  —  er 
—  we  are  trying  to  set  an  example  to  all  property  own- 
ers. If  every  one  in  town  would  take  hold  of  the  snow 
problem  — " 

"  Was  them  your  men  workin'  fer  Sherry  Redpath?  " 
inquired  the  boy,  not  politely,  but  with  interest. 

"  Yes.  Maybe  you  can  tell  me  where  you  last  saw 
them  ?  "  He  spoke  quickly. 

"  Down  by  the  baseball  grounds.  You  better  not 
stand  out  here  in  the  wind,  Mr.  Gilman,  without  yer  hat. 
You'll  ketch  cold." 

"  Thank  you,"  murmured  Mr.  Gilman  stiffly.  But 
after  he  had  re-entered  the  house,  and  the  boy  was  mak- 
ing his  way  down  the  hill,  there  came  over  him  a  warmth 
that  was  not  produced  by  the  heat  of  the  rooms.  A 
fine  boy  that,  he  said  to  himself. 

He  read  the  telegraphic  news  and  the  account  of  the 


SHERRY  227 

blizzard,  and  then  fell  once  more  to  reflecting  upon  the 
persuasive  influence  of  his  secretary.  He  recalled  an 
event  now  l\vo  weeks  old.  One  of  his  business  blocks 
had  long  been  untenanted.  The  plate  glass  windows 
were  plastered  full  of  lithographs, —  some  of  them  a 
year  old  and  most  of  them  reminiscent  of  a  circus  that 
had  come  to  town  early  in  the  spring.  Free  passes  to 
the  show  had  been  the  sole  revenue  from  this  property 
for  five  or  six  years.  He  could  not  understand  why  it 
never  rented.  And  then  young  Redpath,  to  whom  he 
expressed  this  wonder,  told  him  point  blank  that  if  he 
would  paint  the  exterior  and  remodel  the  interior  he 
might  stand  a  chance  of  renting  the  "  old  barracks." 

It  was  sending  good  money  after  bad,  according  to 
his  opinion  as  a  landlord,  and  he  swore  he  would  not 
spend  a  nickel  on  the  place.  Somehow  Redpath  whee- 
dled or  argued  him  into  it,  however,  and  painters  and 
carpenters  had  now  been  at  work  on  the  building  for 
a  week.  And  it  was  but  yesterday  that  his  agent  in 
the  Bank  telephoned  up  to  say  that  he  had  leased  the 
building  for  a  term  of  ten  years  to  the  Updyke  Drug 
Company. 

Staring  over  the  edge  of  his  newspaper  he  wondered 
whether  the  painting  really  had  an37thing  to  do  with 
the  business.  It  was  astonishing,  he  said  to  himself,  the 
ideas  these  young  fellows  get  into  their  heads, —  and 
some  of  them,  he  was  bound  to  admit,  occasionally 
turned  out  to  be  of  value. 

Sherry  came  in  at  seven  o'clock,  rosy-faced  and  tri- 
umphant. 

"  Well,"  said  Andy  Gee,  "  did  you  make  a  good  job 
of  it?" 


SHERRY 

"  We  certainly  did.  I  had  eighteen  men  and  four 
wagons  at  it." 

"  Umph !  I  see  by  the  paper  that  more  snow  is  ex- 
pected tonight.  What  have  you  to  say  to  that?  " 

"  If  it  comes  we'll  go  right  out  after  it  again  to- 
morrow," said  Sherry  cheerfully. 

"  I  can't,  for  the  life  of  me,  decide  whether  you  are 
an  optimist  or  a  young  man  who  will  make  his  mark  in 
the  world,"  observed  Mr.  Gilman  cryptically. 

Sherry  laughed.  "  We  hauled  all  of  the  snow  up  to 
your  vacant  lots  in  Banks  Street -and  dumped  it  there." 

"  I  see.  A  very  good  idea,"  said  the  old  man,  sar- 
donically. "  You  remembered  that  the  snow  belonged 
to  me,  so  you  decided  to  save  it." 

"  A  little  later  on,"  said  the  young  man,  "  we  will 
have  an  absolute  corner  on  snow-balls.  I  thought  of 
that,  you  see." 

Mr.  Gilman  slapped  him  on  the  back,  and  actually 
grinned. 

"  Foresightedness  appears  to  be  another  of  your  vir- 
tues. Keep  it  up.  You'll  be  a  rich  man  some  day. 
A  corner  in  snow-balls !  That's  good ! " 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

REDPATH  went  to  bed  early  that  night.  He 
was  tired,  and  by  nine  o'clock  was  overcome 
by  the  drowsiness  due  to  a  long  day  in  the 
wind.  His  eyes  refused  to  stay  open;  he  came  peril- 
ously near  to  dropping  off  to  sleep  several  times  during 
the  evening  while  supposed  to  be  intent  upon  the  words 
of  his  employer  as  they  sat  before  the  fireplace  in  the 
library.  Finally  Mr.  Oilman  interrupted  himself  in 
the  middle  of  a  somewhat  prolonged  dissertation  on  the 
license  enjoyed  by  newspapers  in  the  United  States, 
especially  in  the  matter  of  ridicule  as  it  is  heaped  upon 
the  heads  of  government,  and,  squinting  narrowly,  in- 
quired, raising  his  voice  : 

"  Can't  you  keep  awake  ?  " 

Sherry  started,  blinking  his  heavy  lids.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  sir.  You  were  saying — " 

"  Better  go  to  bed,  my  friend.  You  are  half  asleep 
now." 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  I  think  I  will  turn  in.  I'm  dog- 
tired  and  dead  sleepy.  The  wind,  I  guess." 

"  Run  along.  I  will  come  up  presently,  and  I'll  try 
not  to  disturb  you." 

Sometime  later  on, —  it  must  have  been  about  ten 
o'clock, —  Redpath  was  dimly  conscious  of  the  ringing 
of  a  bell, —  an  intermittent  jingle  that  seemed  to  come 
from  afar  off  and  out  of  nowhere.  He  had  fallen 

asleep  the  instant  his  head  touched  the  pillow.     The 

229 


230  SHERRY 

sound  of  the  bell  roused  him  for  a  moment ;  he  tried  to 
fix  his  mind  on  the  disturbance,  but  his  senses  slipped 
away  from  him  even  as  he  struggled.  The  telephone 
downstairs, —  the  front  door  bell, —  was  it  not  his 
place  to  get  up  and  answer  the  summons,  whatever  it 
was?  He  slept  again,  and  in  his  dreams  some  one  was 
hammering  viciously  on  a  great  gong  and  people  were 
trampling  upon  him  in  the  rush  to  see  what  all  the  rum- 
pus was  about. 

He  was  indistinctly  aware  of  Mr.  Gilman's  passage 
through  his  bed-room  carrying  a  candle  which  he 
shaded  with  one  hand. 

Long  afterward, —  it  must  have  been,  for  the  house 
was  very  still, —  he  found  himself  wide  awake  and  lis- 
tening. The  sensation  was  uncanny.  He  could  not 
remember  awaking,  and  yet  every  faculty  was  alive  and 
keen.  The  cold  wind  from  the  open  casement  blew 
across  his  face.  Just  as  he  was  making  up  his  mind 
that  the  icy  draft  had  brought  about  this  sudden  re- 
turn to  consciousness, —  and  was  on  the  point  of  crawl- 
ing out  from  under  the  covers  to  lower  the  window, — 
a  faint,  almost  inaudible  sound  came  to  his  ear:  the 
sound  of  some  one  breathing. 

For  many  seconds  he  remained  perfectly  still,  try- 
ing to  locate  the  sound.  He  had  his  wits  about  him. 
If  there  was  a  burglar  in  the  room,  his  safety  depended 
upon  his  ability  to  feign  sleep.  The  slightest  move- 
ment on  his  part  would  undoubtedly  bring  about  an  at- 
tack from  which  he  could  have  no  defence. 

Then  came  a  soft  shuffling  of  feet  over  the  carpet, 
followed  by  the  creaking  of  a  door.  He  raised  his  head 
stealthily,  and  prepared  to  spring  out  of  bed.  The 


SHERRY  231 

door  to  Mrs.  Gilman's  sitting-room  opened  slowly.  A 
thin  stream  of  light  filled  the  aperture,  which  did  not 
expand  more  than  six  inches.  The  light  revealed  a 
white,  motionless  figure,  not  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
door,  but  standing  in  his  own  room.  His  first  thought 
was  that  Mrs.  Gilman  had  wandered  away  from  her 
room,— but  even  as  he  speculated  the  door  was  closed 
softly  and  the  room  was  in  darkness  once  more.  He 
acted  at  once.  There  was  no  burglar  in  the  room; 
caution  was  unnecessary. 

"  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Gilman?  "  he  demanded,  rising  to 
his  elbow. 

There  was  absolute  silence  for  a  few  seconds.  He 
repeated  the  question  sharply.  The  answer  was  a  long- 
drawn  breath  which  ended  in  a  quick,  deep  exhalation, 
as  of  sudden  relief. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,"  came  in  subdued  tones  from  the  in- 
visible figure.  A  short,  nervous  chuckle  followed,  and 
then  the  shuffling,  halting  footsteps  approached  Red- 
path's  bed. 

"  Anything  wrong  with  Mrs.  Gilman,  sir?  " 

"  She  is  quite  all  right."  By  this  time  he  had 
reached  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  was  feeling  his  way  past 
it  to  the  partly  open  door. 

"  Better  get  into  bed,  sir.  It's  as  cold  as  Iceland 
in  this  room,  with  that  window  wide  open.  'Gad,  sir, 
your  teeth  are  chattering." 

The  old  man  laughed  quietly  and,  passing  through 
the  door,  closed  it  behind  him.  Sherry  did  not  fail  to 
observe  that  the  room  beyond  was  as  dark  as  his  own. 

He  lay  awake  for  a  long  time.  The  question  upper- 
most in  his  mind  was  this:  how  long  had  Mr.  Gilman 


232  SHERRY 

been  in  the  room  before  he  awoke?  And  out  of  that 
grew  another  and  even  more  significant  question;  had 
he  been  in  the  room  all  of  the  time? 

At  the  breakfast  table  Mr.  Gilman  failed  to  men- 
tion the  incident,  whether  purposely  or  not  he  was  un- 
able to  decide. 

"  You  will  not  be  obliged  to  go  to  court  this  morn- 
ing to  testify  against  your  burglars,"  he  said,  looking 
up  as  the  young  man  took  his  seat.  "  They  broke  out 
of  jail  last  night  and,  according  to  the  paper,  hadn't 
been  apprehended  up  to  the  hour  of  going  to  press. 
Here  it  is,  on  the  front  page." 

It  was  true.  On  the  eve  of  their  trial  for  burglary, 
the  two  men  had  gained  their  freedom  by  overpowering 
a  jailor.  Secreting  themselves  in  the  prisoners'  bath- 
room in  the  corridor  of  the  old-fashioned  jail,  they  fell 
upon  the  man  who  came  in  to  lock  the  cells  after  throw- 
ing in  the  lever  from  the  outside ;  before  he  could  make 
an  outcry,  they  bound  and  gagged  him  with  pieces  of 
bed-ticking.  Taking  his  keys,  they  made  their  way 
into  the  outer  corridor  and  then,  with  a  sudden  dash, 
bolted  through  the  turnkey's  office,  where  an  aged 
"  trustie  "  was  mopping  the  floor  after  a  recent  incur- 
sion of  snow  and  mud-covered  policemen  with  an  "  in- 
tox  "  in  charge.  The  turnkey  himself  was  down  in  the 
furnace-room  at  the  time,  giving  instructions  to  a  new 
fireman  who  had  just  come  on  the  job.  Before  the 
"  trustie "  could  give  the  alarm,  the  prisoners  were 
out  in  the  street  and  lost  in  the  snow-storm. 

Never  had  there  been  a  more  daring  jail-break  in  the 
history  of  the  county.  The  Dispatch,  the  Republican 
organ,  came  out  flatly  with  the  charge  of  gross  care- 


SHERRY  233 

lessness  and  in  competency  on  the  part  of  the  sheriff's 
men,  and  predicted  the  overwhelming  defeat  of  that  offi- 
cial, a  Democrat,  when  the  next  election  came  around. 
He  was  responsible  for  the  "  appointment  of  ward  loaf- 
ers and  political  bums  to  positions  of  trust,"  and  the 
voters  of  the  city  and  county  "  would  hold  him  to  ac- 
count "  for  this  and  countless  other  instances  of  inef- 
ficiency,—  or,  to  use  a  stronger  word,  "  corruption." 

Two  desperate  criminals,  wailed  the  Dispatch,  had 
escaped  from  the  confines  of  the  county  jail,  which  had 
just  been  overhauled  and  strengthened  at  considerable 
expense  to  the  tax  payers  by  a  Democratic  board  of 
county  commissioners,  and  was  supposed  to  be  burglar- 
proof  (from  the  inside,  at  least).  They  were  now  at 
large,  a  menace  to  the  life  and  property  of  every  en- 
franchised man  in  Farragut, —  and  why?  The  answer 
was  now  only  too  plain,  even  to  the  most  wilfully  ob- 
tuse :  "  The  voters  themselves  had  put  into  office  a  man 
who  .  .  .  " —  and  so  on  at  great  length. 

The  whole  affair  looked  to  the  Dispatch  like  a  "  put- 
up  job."  There  was  but  one  defence  for  the  jailors; 
they  may  have  been  and  probably  were  drunk.  That, 
and  that  alone,  would  absolve  them  from  the  more  seri- 
ous charge  of  having  been  "  fixed  "  by  an  interested 
"  outside  party."  The  ease  with  which  the  men  made 
their  escape  was  bound  to  make  Farragut  the  laughing- 
stock of  the  country.  Much  better  for  the  pride  of  the 
city,  said  the  Dispatch,  that  her  keepers  of  the  lawless 
should  be  charged  with  bribe-taking  than  that  another 
and  more  sickening  alternative  should  be  allowed  to 
leak  out:  that  stupidity  of  the  rankest  sort  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  disaster ! 


SHERRY 

Sherry  found  his  own  name  mentioned  in  the  account, 
—  blazoned,  in  fact.  His  spectacular  service  to  so- 
ciety was  held  up  in  contrast  to  the  "  puerile  futility 
revealed  by  the  individual  who  had  been  honoured  by  the 
electors  .  .  .  ' 

"  It  looks  like  a  put-up  job  to  me,  Mr.  Gilman," 
cried  he,  excitedly.  "  Some  one  has  been  fixed  down 
there,  sure  as  you  are  alive.  'Gad,  the  people  of  this 
county  ought  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  thing,  and 
if  there  has  been  crooked  work  in  the  sheriffs  office  — " 

"  It  is  easy  to  say  that  a  jailer  has  been  bought,  but 
it  will  not  be  so  easy  to  prove,"  interrupted  Mr.  Gil- 
man. "  Carelessness  may  be  shown,  of  course,  but  that 
isn't  complicity,  you  know.  I  know  the  sheriff  of  this 
county.  He  is  an  honest  man.  You  must  take  with  a 
grain  of  salt  all  that  is  said  by  the  Dispatch.  The 
printing  from  the  sheriff's  office  amounts  to  a  good  deal 
in  a  year's  time.  All  of  it  has  been  going  to  a  Dem- 
ocratic newspaper  and  job  office.  The  Dispatch  wants 
a  Republican  in  office.  Politics  is  business,  my  boy.  I 
am  a  Republican  but  I  shall  vote  for  Sheriff  Jackson 
next  election." 

"  But  how  easy  it  was,"  cried  Sherry.  "  They  prac- 
tically walked  out  of  jail.  If  the  whole  Lhing  hadn't 
been  arranged,  they  would  have  slugged  that  jailer  into 
insensibility.  They  wouldn't  have  taken  a  chance  on 
his  putting  up  a  6ght.  No,  sir,  Mr.  Gilman,  there  is 
something  ugly  about  this  business.  Desperate  crimi- 
nals don't  handle  men  with  kid  gloves.  They  would  have 
cracked  that  fellow  over  the  head  with  something  first, 
and  then  gagged  him." 

"  You  may  be  right,"  said  the  other,  nodding  his 


SHERRY  235 

head.  "  Anything  is  possible  in  these  days.  It  is  even 
possible  to  buy  up  a  jailer  if  you  can  pay  his  price. 
Did  these  men  have  any  money?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  They  may  have  friends  with 
money,  however,  which  would  come  to  the  same  thing. 
By  George ! "  The  exclamation  was  involuntary  and 
was  preceded  by  a  violent  start.  There  suddenly  had 
shot  into  his  brain  the  recollection  of  a  bell  ringing 
sometime  during  the  night,  a  hazy  but  definite  incident 
that  had  troubled  him  in  a  vague  sort  of  way.  An  in- 
quiry leaped  to  his  lips  but  he  choked  it  back. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Gilman.  For 
the  first  time  Sherry  noticed  a  queer  pallor  in  the  old 
man's  face. 

"  Nothing.  I  just  thought  of  something."  He 
took  the  opportunity  to  regain  his  composure  while 
slowly  sipping  his  coffee.  He  thought  quickly,  how- 
ever, and  decided  to  take  the  plunge,  not  knowing  where 
it  would  lead  him.  "  I  may  have  been  dreaming,  but 
I  thought  I  heard  the  door-bell  ringing  last  night,  long 
after  I  had  gone  to  bed." 

Mr.  Gilman  was  staring  at  him  oddly.  He  was  slow 
in  responding  to  what  appeared  to  be  a  question,  and 
when  he  did  it  was  with  something  like  relief  in  his 
voice. 

"  The  telephone  rang  about  ten  o'clock.  I  answered 
it.  Some  one  calling  up  to  inquire  how  Mrs.  Gilman 
is.  People  who  call  up  at  that  hour  of  the  night  when 
there  are  twelve  good  hours  of  daylight  ought  to  be 
kicked." 

Sherry  bent  his  gaze  upon  the  newspaper,  and  with 
difficulty  held  it  there.  He  was  mortally  afraid  that 


236  SHERRY 

Mr.  Gilman  would  catch  the  look  of  incredulity  in  his 
eyes.  He  did  not  question  the  statement  that  there 
had  been  a  telephone  call ;  it  was  not  at  all  improbable. 
It  was  even  probable  that  some  one  had  inquired  about 
Mrs.  Gilman's  health,  but  he  was  convinced  in  his  own 
mind  that  a  deeper  motive  than  that  lay  behind  the  mys- 
terious call. 

His  thoughts  flew  instantly  to  the  one  person  who 
might  have  had  reason  for  calling  up  Andrew  Gilman 
at  that  hour  of  the  night :  his  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton.  Her  strange  visit  to  the  house  was  still  unex- 
plained. He  had  formed  many  conjectures,  and  all  of 
them  had  to  do  with  the  man  who  had  tried  to  rob  her 
house.  She  knew  the  fellow,  and  perhaps  Andrew  Gil- 
man knew  him  as  well.  Something  like  a  shock  came 
to  him  with  the  suspicion  that  she  might  have  called 
up  to  tell  her  brother-in-law  that  George  Smith,  the 
burglar,  was  at  large  once  more!  This  led  to  even 
more  staggering  possibilities.  If  a  jailer  had  been 
bribed  —  but  he  would  not  believe  that  of  her. 

Finally  he  looked  up  from  the  paper.  "  They  cer- 
tainly made  a  clean  getaway.  Evidently  they  knew 
just  what  to  do  ouce  they  were  outside  the  jail.  The 
police  have  said  all  along  that  they  were  strangers  here, 
—  at  least  they  were  not  known  to  any  one  on  the  force. 
That  looks  like  help  from  the  outside,  doesn't  it? 
Friends  waiting  in  an  automobile, —  all  that  sort  of 
stuff.  \Vhy,  it's  as  sure  as  anything  that  — "  His 
eyes  went  back  to  the  first  paragraph  in  the  long  ac- 
count. The  break  had  occurred  at  nine  o'clock !  "  I 
say,  Mr.  Gilman,  suppose  I  call  up  police  headquarters 


SHERRY  237 

and  ask  if  they've  been  caught."  He  started  up  from 
the  table,  eagerly. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  old  man  indifferently.  "  You 
are  interested,  of  course."  Which  was  as  much  as  to 
say  that  interest  was  entirely  one-sided.  "  Give  me  the 
paper,  please.  I  haven't  looked  to  see  who  is  dead. 
When  you  get  along  to  my  time  of  life,  you  will  be  more 
interested  in  obituaries  than  in  j  ail  deliveries." 

There  was  no  news  of  the  fugitives.  A  large  posse 
was  scouring  the  town  and  country,  and  all  railroads 
were  being  watched.  The  condition  of  the  telephone 
wires  after  the  storm  was  handicapping  the  authorities 
terribly,  but  "  they  would  land  'em  before  night,  sure." 

Hanging  up  the  receiver,  he  turned  to  Mr.  Gilman, 
a  troubled  expression  in  his  eyes. 

"  They  haven't  got  them,  Mr.  Gilman.  It  has  just 
occurred  to  me  that  I  ought  to  telephone  out  to  Mrs. 
Compton's.  She  may  not  have  heard  of  the  jail-break, 
and  she  ought  to  be  warned." 

The  old  man  regarded  him  in  silence  for  a  moment} 
a  frown  darkening  his  brow.  "  That  seems  to  me  to  be 
quite  unnecessary.  Why  a  warning?  Lightning  nevei 
strikes  twice  in  the  same  place.  These  rascals  will  not 
bother  her  again." 

"  That  may  be  true,  sir,  but  it  is  only  fair  that  I 
should  let  her  know.  You  see,  sir,  she  depends  on  me 
to—" 

"  I  have  no  objection,"  interrupted  Mr.  Gilman  ston- 
ily. "  But  stay !  I  have  a  better  plan.  Take  the  car 
and  run  out  to  her  place.  If  the  roads  are  passable 
you  can  make  it  and  back  in  an  hour  or  so.  Besides, 


238  SHERRY 

she  may  have  started  to  town  and  would  thank  you  to 
intercept  her  on  the  way.  I  fancy  she  is  expected  to 
appear  against  the  men  in  court  this  morning.  Am  I 
right?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     She  has  been  subpoenaed." 

"  She  has  started  in  by  this  time,  in  that  event. 
You  may  save  her  going  the  full  journey.  I  have  no 
objection  to  your  using  the  car.  No  doubt  her  tele- 
phone is  out  of  commission.  Better  start  at  once." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IT  was  not  until  Redpath  was  half-way  to  the  Comp- 
ton  place  that  Mr.  Gilman's  real  reason  for  send- 
ing him  out  in  the  car  flashed  through  his  brain. 
If  there  was  any  telephoning  to  be  done,  he  preferred 
to  do  it  himself.  Assuming  that  it  was  Mrs.  Compton 
who  called  up  during  the  night,  what  could  be  more  nat- 
ural than  that  his  employer  should  prepare  her  for  cer- 
tain questions  that  Redpath  might  reasonably,  even  in- 
nocently, ask?  The  thought  took  the  form  of  a  con- 
viction. He  had  been  very  cleverly  forestalled  by  the 
wise  old  fox. 

Arriving  at  the  house  on  the  hill,  after  a  laborious 
run  over  an  almost  unbroken  road,  he  was  greeted  by 
Morna  O'Brien.  His  first  glance  assured  him  that  she 
was  not  contemplating  the  trip  to  town.  That  same 
glance  also  produced  an  extraordinary  quickening  of 
the  blood.  She  was  distractingly  lovely  in  a  filmy 
house  gown  of  pale  blue  silk  and  chiffon,  revealing  her 
white,  smooth  throat.  Her  eyes  were  the  colour  of  deep 
blue  pansies,  and  liquid  as  with  the  shimmering  dew. 
A  sort  of  ecstasy  possessed  him.  He  mumbled  an 
innocuous  greeting,  smiling  dizzily  as  he  returned  the 
warm,  firm  hand-clasp.  The  dimples  in  her  soft  cheek, 
the  luscious  redness  of  her  lips,  the  adorable  uplifted 

239 


240  SHERRY 

chin,  the  barely  disclosed  white  teeth,  the  way  her  dark 
hair  grew  about  her  temples, — he  was  absolutely  bereft 
of  certain  heretofore  infallible  resources :  such  as  read- 
iness of  speech,  for  example. 

He  had  not  seen  her  in  more  than  a  week.  He  did 
not  realize  it,  but  his  present  ecstasy  was  due  entirely 
to  the  fact  that  he  had  been  so  hungry  for  the  sight  of 
her  that  he  fed  his  senses  into  a  state  of  stupefaction. 
He  was  revelling  in  complete  satisfaction.  Unpalata- 
ble impressions  had  no  place  in  this  delectable  feast  of 
the  senses.  He  even  forgot  that  such  a  person  as 
Jimmy  Burton  existed. 

Presently  he  found  himself  sitting  in  front  of  the  fire- 
place, talking  to  her  in  a  most  sensible,  matter-of-fact 
manner.  She  was  seated  in  the  corner  of  a  big,  com- 
fortable couch,  snuggling  back  among  the  cushions. 
He  remembered  vaguely  having  arranged  the  cushions 
behind  her,  and  the  scent  of  her  hair  as  he  bent  over 
to  readjust  them  properly,  but  he  hadn't  much  of  a 
notion  as  to  how  he  got  into  the  chair  he  now  occupied. 

" —  and  if  I  had  risked  telephoning  out  to  you  I 
might  have  missed  you  altogether,"  he  discovered  him- 
self to  be  saying,  and  for  ever  afterward  wondered  what 
he  had  said  prior  to  that.  There  must  have  been  some- 
thing, of  course,  or  she  wouldn't  be  looking  at  him  with 
such  perfect  understanding. 

"  As  I  said  before,  we  were  not  even  out  of  bed  when 
the  message  came  from  grandmother's  lawyer,"  she 
said.  (So  she  had  already  mentioned  it,  had  she? 
Doubtless  everything  would  come  back  to  him  in  time.) 
"  He  called  up  at  seven  o'clock,  hoping  to  catch  us  be- 
fore we  started  to  town." 


SHERRY  241 

"And  that  was  the  first  you  knew  of  the  escape?  " 
he  hazarded. 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  slightly.  "  You  wouldn't 
expect  us  to  get  the  news  ahead  of  people  in  the  city, 
would  you?  How  many  in  Farragut  knew  it  before 
seven  o'clock?  " 

"  I  thought  perhaps  some  one  might  have  called  you 
up  late  last  night,"  he  explained  hastily.  "  They  es- 
caped at  nine  o'clock.  Plenty  of  time  to  — " 

"  We  were  in  town  last  night,  Mr.  Redpath,  and  did 
not  reach  home  until  after  twelve.  We  went  in  to  see 
Sothern  and  Marlowe.  I  didn't  see  you  there." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  didn't  look  very  hard,"  he  ventured, 
leading  her  on. 

"  Indeed  I  did.  You  were  not  downstairs.  Should 
I  have  looked  higher  up  ?  " 

He  grinned  happily.  "  I  wasn't  there  at  all. 
Thank  you  for  the  compliment,  just  the  same." 

"  Mr.  Burton  looked  too.  The  house  was  packed. 
He  said  it  would  be  very  easy  to  miss  you  in  the 
crowd." 

The  grin  died.  "  Was  Jimmy  there  ?  "  he  asked  fat- 
uously. 

"  Obviously.  He  happened  to  have  a  seat  directly 
behind  us.  Wasn't  that  odd?  " 

"  You  invariably  sit  in  section  C,  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes.     Granny  will  not  sit  anywhere  else." 

"  Then  I  don't  see  anything  odd  about  it,"  he  said, 
almost  gruffly. 

She  seemed  momentarily  perplexed ;  then  a  swift  blush 
mounted  to  her  cheeks.  "  If  you  think  that  he  knew 
we  were  to  be  sitting  there,  Mr.  Redpath,  you  are  very 


SHERRY 

much  mistaken,"  she  said  stiffly.  "  I  have  never  seen 
any  one  more  surprised  than  he  was." 

"  How  was  the  play?  "  he  inquired,  resisting  a  mean 
desire  to  further  embarrass  her  by  putting  the  ques- 
tion that  was  uppermost  in  his  mind.  He  might  have 
asked,  with  propriety,  whether  Mrs.  Compton  was  still 
in  the  dark  as  to  the  identity  of  Mr.  James  Burton. 

"  Gorgeous,"  she  said  succinctly,  with  the  challenge 
still  in  her  eyes. 

He  changed  the  subject.  "  I  brought  the  Dispatch 
with  me.  It  has  a  full  account  of  the  escape.  Rather 
thrilling,  and  yet  ridiculously  simple.  The  whole  thing 
looks  fishy  to  me." 

"Fishy?" 

"  It's  a  hard  thing  to  say,  but  I  believe  some  one  was 
bribed  by  friends  of  one  or  both  of  the  men." 

She  started.  Her  eyes  widened  quickly,  and,  before 
she  could  avert  them,  he  detected  an  unmistakable  gleam 
of  apprehension  in  their  depths.  "  Oh,  goodness,  do 
you  really  think  so  ?  "  she  cried  breathlessly. 

"  The  Dispatch  practically  makes  the  charge,"  he 
said.  "  On  the  way  out  here,  I  did  a  lot  of  speculating. 
Some  one  was  determined  that  these  men  should  not  be 
brought  to  trial.  That  is  my  opinion,  Miss  O'Brien." 

Her  gaze  rested  upon  him  searchingly.  He  saw  the 
colour  fade  from  her  cheeks. 

"  Do  you  mean  — "  A  slight  movement  of  the  head 
completed  the  question. 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  said,  glancing  toward  the  door. 
"  We  both  think  that  she  knows  the  man,  but  I  can't  be- 
lieve she  would  —  No,  she  certainly  was  not  in  my 
mind."  He  hesitated  for  a  moment  before  asking  the 


SHERRY  243 

question :  "  Did  any  one  besides  her  lawyer  call  up 
this  morning?  " 

"  Yes.  Some  one  telephoned  about  nine  o'clock, — 
just  a  little  while  before  you  came." 

"  Do  you  know  who  it  was  ?  " 

"  No.  The  cook  answered  the  'phone.  She  called 
upstairs  to  Granny,  and  she  hurried  down.  I  asked  her 
afterwards  if  the  men  had  been  caught.  At  first  I 
thought  it  might  have  been  you  calling  up,  to  give  us 
the  news.  It  seems  that  it  was  something  about  a  busi- 
ness appointment  in  town, —  cancelling  it,  I  think  she 
said." 

He  leaned  forward.  "  Was  it  Mr.  Gilman  who 
called?" 

Her  astonishment  was  genuine.     "  Who?  "  she  cried. 

"  Andrew  Gilman." 

"  Heaven  above,  Mr.  R^dpath,"  she  whispered  ex- 
citedly, "  what  put  that  thought  into  your  head  ?  " 

"Why  shouldn't  he  call  up?  He  is  her  brother-in- 
law,  isn't  he?" 

"  But  I  told  you  long  ago  that  they  hate  each  other 
like  poison.  She  would  die  before  she  would  speak  to 
him, —  and  I  dare  say  he'd  pay  her  the  same  compli- 
ment." 

"  Nevertheless,"  he  began  slowly,  "  she  came  to  his 
house  not  long  ago  to  see  him." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  she  said  promptly.  "  Whoever 
told  you  that,  Mr.  Redpath?  " 

"  No  one.     I  saw  her  with  my  own  eyes." 

"  You  saw  her  at  Andrew  Gilman's  house?  "  she  mur- 
mured, incredulously. 

"  She  came  one  afternoon  and  remained  for  fifteen 


244  SHERRY 

or  twenty  minutes.  That  is  all  I  know  about  it,  and 
that  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  felt  justified  in  asking 
you  if  it  was  he  who  telephoned  this  morning.'* 

"I  —  I  never  was  so  flabbergasted  in  my  life,"  she 
said.  "  She  did  not  tell  me  that  she  had  been  to  see 
,him.  You  cannot  possibly  mean  to  imply,  Mr.  Red- 
path,  that  she  went  to  see  him  about  that  man  in  the 
county  j  ail  ? "  Her  eyes  were  dark  with  trouble. 
She  was  sitting  bolt  upright  now,  rigid  with  interest. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  he  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment. "  I  am  not  a  Paul  Pry,  and  I  ought  not  to  be 
coming  to  you  with  this  tale.  It  is  none  of  my  busi- 
ness, and  I  am  not  paid  to  interfere  in  Mr.  Oilman's. 
Mrs.  Compton  was  good  to  me.  I  shall  never  forget  it. 
If  there  is  anything  I  can  do  now,  I'll  do  it  gladly. 
She  may  speak  to  you  about  all  this  later  on.  If  she 
does,  I  want  you  to  tell  her  just  what  I  have  said,  and 
that  she  can  trust  me.  Don't  get  it  into  your  head, 
however,  that  I  am  working  against  Mr.  Gilman.  I  am 
working  for  him,  and  I  believe  absolutely  in  his  honesty. 
I  am  there  to  help  him  in  every  way  possible.  Circum- 
stances over  which  neither  of  them  has  any  control  may 
have  come  to  light  suddenly,  and  they  both  regard 
them  as  serious  enough  to  call  for  united  action,  no  mat- 
ter how  distasteful  it  may  be.  I  honestly  believe,  Miss 
O'Brien,  that  the  big  chap  we  caught  out  here  that 
night  is  in  some  way  mixed  up  in  the  lives  of  both  of 
them.  Some  one  called  Mr.  Gilman  up  on  the  telephone 
at  ten  o'clock  last  night.  I  will  confess  that  I  sus- 
pected Mrs.  Compton.  But,  of  course,  as  you  were  at 
the  theatre,  she  couldn't  have  been  the  one." 

"  She    is    coming,"    whispered    Morna,    nervously. 


SHERRY  245 

<!<  She  has  been  in  her  room  ever  since  that  last  tele- 
phone—  Here  is  Mr.  Redpath,  Granny.  He  came 
out  to  tell  us  about  those  men  getting  out  of  jail  last 
night." 

Mrs.  Compton,  quite  as  serene  and  as  self-composed 
as  ever,  advanced  into  the  room,  her  hand  extended,  a 
cordial  smile  on  her  lips. 

"Haven't  they  caught  them  yet,  Mr.  Redpath?" 
she  inquired,  after  shaking  hands  with  him.  She  did 
not  attempt  to  conceal  her  anxiety. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  Mrs.  Compton.  The  police  are 
positive  they  will  get  them  before  night,  however.  I 
thought  I'd  run  out  to  tell  you  that  you  need  not  be 
worried.  They  certainly  will  not  come  here  again. 
More  than  likely  they  are  in  Chicago  by  this  time. 
We've  seen  the  last  of  them." 

"  I  hope  so,"  she  said  fervently.  "  It  is  good  of  you 
to  come  all  the  way  out  here  in  this  wretched  weather. 
Did  you,  by  any  chance,  bring  a  newspaper  with  you? 
Thank  you.  I  should  like  to  read  the  full  account. 
Our  mail  will  be  delayed  this  morning."  She  took  the 
paper  and  moved  up  to  the  fireplace.  "  The  house  is 
cold,  Morna.  Tell  Matson  to  poke  up  the  furnace, 
please."  The  girl  scrambled  up  from  the  cushions  and 
hurried  into  the  rear  hall.  Mrs.  Compton  drew  close  to 
the  young  man's  side.  "  Did  you  discuss  this  matter 
with  Andrew  Gilman  before  leaving,  Sheridan?  "  She 
spoke  hurriedly  and  in  guarded  tones. 

"  Somewhat  casually,"  he  replied.  "  Mr.  Gilman  did 
not  appear  to  be  greatly  interested.  He  does  not  agree 
with  my  theory,  however." 

"  And  what  is  your  theory  ?  " 


246  SHERRY 

"  That  there  was  help  from  the  outside,  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton." 

There  was  a  brief  silence.     She  was  reading  the  head- 
•  lines.     Ke  observed  that  her  hands  were  very  steady. 

"  You  say  Mr.  Gilman  was  not  interested  ?  "  she  re- 
marked, lowering  the  paper. 

"  Not  especially.  Why  should  he  be?  He  was  only 
interested  in  the  matter  because  I  had  had  a  hand  in 
the  capture." 

"  You  are  a  shrewd  young  man,"  she  said,  meeting 
his  gaze  frankly.  "  I  have  known  all  along  that  you 
suspect  something.  One  of  those  men  is  known  to  me 
and  to  Andrew  Gilman  as  well.  I  can  tell  you  no  more, 
and  I  tell  you  this  much  because  I  am  sure  I  can  trust  to 
your  discretion.  Besides,"  and  she  smiled  quizzically, 
"  it  partially  relieves  the  mental  strain  you  have  en- 
dured for  some  time.  I  could  see  that  it  was  beginning 
to  tell  on  you." 

"  Discretion  also  includes  forbearance,  I  imagine," 
he  remarked.  "  I  am  not  to  ask  any  questions." 

"  Quite  so.     No  questions  asked." 

"  You  will  not  regard  it  in  the  light  of  a  question,  I 
hope,  if  I  surmise  that  you  are  glad  the  fellow  escaped." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  pleased,"  she  said  seriously.  "  On 
the  contrary,  I  am  extremely  sorry." 

"  You  were  expected  to  appear  in  court  as  a  witness 
against  him." 

"  I  should  not  have  done  so,"  she  replied  calmly. 
"  That  much,  at  least,  was  *  fixed,'  as  you  would  put 
it." 

Morna  was  heard  coming  up  the  back  stairs.  He 
laid  his  hand  on  Mrs.  Compton's  arm. 


SHERRY  247 

"  I  would  suggest  that  you  tell  Miss  O'Brien  what 
you  have  told  me.  She  is  quite  as  shrewd,  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton,  if  not  shrewder  than  I." 

"  Time  enough  for  that,"  she  said  curtly. 

Morna  entered  the  room  and,  coming  over  to  her 
grandmother's  side,  linked  an  arm  through  hers. 
"  Won't  you  slip  on  that  heavy  sweater  of  mine, 
Granny,  if  I  — " 

"  I  am  quite  warm  now.  Besides,  I  don't  fancy  red 
and  white  stripes,  my  dear.  Tell  me,  Mr.  Redpath,  are 
you  not  afraid  that  big  brute  will  hunt  you  out  and 
have  his  revenge  for  the  injury  you  inflicted  on  him?  " 

"  I  don't  think  he'll  bother  me,"  he  replied  easily. 

"  He  said  he  would  '  get '  you,"  cried  Morna,  and  the 
anxious  note  in  her  voice  pleased  him.  "  I  distinctly 
heard  that  policeman  say  — " 

"  They  always  say  something  like  that,  and  then 
think  'better  of  it." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  so  sure,"  she  insisted.  "  He  didn't 
look  like  a  person  who  could  think  better  of  anything. 
You  must  be  on  your  guard.  At  least  for  awhile. 
Especially  at  night  and  in  lonely  places." 

"  I  sha'n't  sleep  in  Compton's  Woods,  if  that  will 
allay  your  fears,  Miss  O'Brien,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  that  man's  face,"  she  said,  a 
slight  quiver  in  her  voice.  "  He  was  the  vilest  looking 
creature  — " 

"  Now,  now,  my  dear,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Compton. 
"  They'll  catch  him  and  that  will  be  the  end  of  him." 

"  I  shall  not  sleep  a  wink  until  I  know  he  is  safe 
behind  the  bars  again.  What  if  he  should  take  it  into 
his  head  to  come  out  here  again,  to  get  even  with  us?  " 


248  SHERRY 

"  Get  even  with  us  for  what,  my  dear?  For  having 
an  overabundance  of  loose  silver  in  the  house?  " 

"  You  never  can  tell  what  the*«  criminals  — " 

"  See  here,  Mrs.  Compton,"  broke  in  Sherry,  struck 
by  a  glorious  idea,  "  suppose  I  ask  Mr.  Gilman  to  let 
me  stay  out  here  for  the  next  two  or  three  nights.  He'll 
be  glad  to  let  me  off  if  I  put  it  up  to  him  in  the  right 
way." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  perfectly  wonderful  — " 

"  Just  a  moment,  Morna,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton sharply.  "  No,  Mr.  Redpath,  it  is  not  to  be  con- 
sidered. No  harm  will  come  to  jus."  She  uttered  the 
next  few  sentences  slowly,  somewhat  portentously. 
"  You  must  stay  where  you  belong.  Andrew  Gilman  is 
not  romantic.  He,,  expects  you  to  sit  up  and  play 
dominoes  or  cribbage  with  him,  and  not  to  go  bound- 
ing away  in  quest  of  fair  ladies  in  distress.  You  are 
not  to  think  of  it,  my  friend." 

The  inference  was  plain.  She  meant  that  his  place 
was  in  Andrew  Gilman's  home  at  this  particular  time. 

"  I  merely  suggested  it,  Mrs.  Compton.  Of  course, 
if  you  are  not  afraid  of  being  alone  — " 

"  We  are  not  alone.  I  have  three  able-bodied  men  on 
the  place  and  two  women  with  remarkably  strong  voices. 
Now,  sit  down  and  tell  us  all  you  know  about  the  escape 
of  these  men.  You  must  have  a  big  cup  of  hot  coffee 
before  you  start  back." 

He  left  for  town  in  half  an  hour.  Morna  went  out  to 
the  cold  front  hall  with  him. 

"  Telephone  me  if  you  hear  anything,  please,"  she 
said.  "  We  are  terribly  interested.  And  do  be  on  your 
guard.  That  man — " 


SHERRY  249 

"  Bless  your  heart,"  he  cried  fervently.  "  He  is  not 
the  man  I'm  afraid  of,"  he  went  on,  his  heart  thumping 
furiously. 

She  looked  at  him,  astonished.  Something  that  felt 
icy  raced  through  his  body. 

"  Good-bye !  "  he  gasped,  in  utter  confusion. 

"  Good-bye.     It  was  awfully  good  of  you  to  come." 


CHAPTER  XX 

MR.  OILMAN'S  telephone  rang  persistently 
all  that  day.  The  speakers  at  the  other  end 
of  the  line  invariably  were  exasperated  ten- 
ants complaining  about  leaky  roofs,  and  it  was  into 
Sherry's  ears  that  these  wails  were  poured  by  bold  men 
and  women  who  took  instant  advantage  of  the  fact 
that  they  were  speaking  to  a  hireling  and  not  to  the 
formidable  landlord  himself. 

Mr.  Gilman  was  complacent.  He  heard  each  of 
Sherry's  reports  and  commented  briefly  on  the  de- 
mands of  the  tenants. 

"  You  see  how  it  is,  my  boy,"  he  said  wearily,  after 
the  first  few  complaints.  "  This  is  the  penalty  of  being 
an  owner  of  habitable  property.  These  people  are 
yelling  before  they  are  hurt.  How  can  their  roofs  be 
leaking  when  there  hasn't  been  the  slightest  indication 
of  a  thaw?  Roofs  don't  leak  snow,  you  know.  The 
instant  a  man  rents  a  house  he  takes  over  the  right  to 
abuse  the  owner  thereof.  Tell  all  of  them  that  I'll  look 
into  the  matter  as  soon  as  the  weather  permits." 

Redpath  was  occupied  all  afternoon  checking  up  the 
rent  accounts  and  preparing  notices  to  delinquents. 
Andrew  Gilman  exacted  payment  on  the  first  day  of  the 
month.  On  the  tenth  day  he  sent  out  imperative  re- 
minders to  all  who  had  neglected  to  pay,  with  the  brief 
statement  that  the  time  would  not  be  extended  beyond 

the  fifteenth.     While  he  seldom  carried  out  this  veiled 

250 


SHERRY  251 

threat  to  evict,  he  always  sent  the  notices  as  a  matter  of 
routine  and  principle.  Heretofore  they  had  been 
signed  in  the  cramped, —  you  might  say  miserly, —  hand 
of  Andrew  Gilman,  who  apparently  economized  in  ink 
and  space  as  well  as  in  other  things, —  but  now  his  name 
was  appended  in  a  dashing,  unfamiliar  scrawl,  below 
which  appeared  the  initials  S.  W.  R.  On  the  morning 
of  the  sixteenth  the  owner  of  these  initials  was  expected 
to  follow  them  in  person,  with  the  polite  request  that  the 
occupant  of  the  domicile  "  fork  over."  The  occupant 
of  the  house  failed  to  take  the  visit  as  seriously  as  did 
the  flushed,  embarrassed  young  man  who  stood  on  the 
door-step  and  made  the  hateful  demand.  It  was  a  de- 
testable business,  said  S.  W.  R.  after  he  had  made  the 
rounds  in  the  middle  of  his  first  month.  Being  an  out- 
spoken, honest  sort  of  chap,  he  confessed  his  abhorrence 
to  Andrew  Gilman  when  that  gentleman  softly  inquired 
how  he  liked  being  a  "  collector." 

"  The  fact  that  I  haven't  brought  home  a  cent  as  the 
result  of  my  experiment,  ought  to  answer  that  question 
for  you,  Mr.  Gilman,"  he  said,  slapping  the  empty  bill 
folder  on  the  library  table.  "  I'm  not  cut  out  for  this 
sort  of  thing,  sir.  I  simply  cannot  haggle  with  women 
and  it  isn't  in  me  to  scowl  at  'em  as  a  rent  collector 
ought  to  do.  I  don't  mind  having  the  men  growl  at  me, 
but,  by  George,  sir,  I  can't  stand  it  when  the  women 
look  at  me  with  tears  in  their  eyes.  I'm  afraid  you  will 
have  to  get  some  one  else  in  my  place." 

Mr.  Gilman's  laugh  interrupted  this  rueful  attempt 
to  account  for  the  empty  pocket-book. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  after  a  moment  of  real 
amusement,  "  you  may  consider  yourself  lucky  in  hav- 


252  SHERRY 

ing  drawn  nothing  worse  than  tears.  The  men  are 
afraid  to  curse  the  rent  collector,  but  that  isn't  true  of 
the  women.  When  they  realize  that  tears  are  of  no 
avail,  they  go  to  the  other  extreme.  It  would  do  the 
soul  of  a  pirate  no  end  of  good  to  hear  the  things  they 
can  say  on  occasion.  Possess  your  soul  in  peace,  Sheri- 
dan; I  do  not  intend  you  to  become  a  rent  collector. 
You  would  not  be  worth  your  salt  in  that  capacity.  I 
expect  you  to  politely  represent  me  once  a  month,  and 
that  is  all.  If  they  fail  to  pay,  the  matter  is  ended  so 
far  as  you  are  concerned." 

"  Well,  I'm  mightily  relieved  to  hear  you  say  that," 
said  Sherry,  his  face  brightening.  And  so  it  was  that 
when  succeeding  "  sixteenths  "  came  around  he  visited 
the  poor,  bedraggled  wretches  in  the  lower  end  of  town 
with  a  countenance  so  pleasant  that  his  ears  must  have 
burned  later  on  because  of  the  nice  things  the  women 
said  to  each  other  across  the  alley  fences. 

The  busy  telephone  transmitted  no  word  concerning 
the  all-important,  though  seldom  mentioned,  subject. 
Every  time  the  bell  rang,  Redpath  took  down  the  re- 
ceiver with  the  hope  that  something  had  developed  in 
the  hunt  for  the  two  jail-birds.  At  five  o'clock  Officer 
Barney  Doyle  came  over  from  his  home  down  the  street. 

"  Good  afternoon  to  you,  Mr.  Gilman,"  said  the 
genial  Barney,  and  was  rewarded  by  a  handshake  as 
cordial  as  it  was  unexpected.  (He  afterwards  in- 
formed his  wife  that  Andy  Gee  was  as  fine  a  man  in  his 
own  house  as  you'd  ever  want  to  see.)  "  I  thought  I'd 
run  over  before  goin'  down  to  headquarters  to  see  if 
ye'd  like  to  come  along  with  a  bunch  of  us  this  evenin', 
Sherry,  me  lad.  (It's  a  wonderful  house  ye  have  here, 


SHERRY  253 

Mr.  Oilman.)  The  chief  is  sindin'  some  of  the  boys  out 
with  Jackson's  men  to  round  up  a  couple  of  fellies  re- 
ported by  the  station  agent  at  Black  Hill  a  while  back. 
(Ye're  lookin'  fine  these  days,  Mr.  Oilman.  The  lad 
must  be  agreein'  with  ye.)  It's  twenty  miles  up  the 
line  and  we're  to  catch  the  six  o'clock  local.  They 
were  seen  back  in  the  woods  by  siveral  reputable  per- 
sons,—  though  what  the  divil  reputable  persons  could 
be  doin'  in  the  woods  is  a  mystery  to  me, —  and  it  is 
the  opinion  of  the  station  agent  that  they're  layin'  low 
until  dark  when  they'll  sneak  down  to  the  siding  and 
board  a  freight.  There  won't  be  a  freight  through 
there  till  after  eight  o'clock,  so  we've  plinty  of  time. 
The  chief  ast  me  to  run  over  an'  see  if  ye'll  join  the 
gang.'  He  says  he's  pickin'  his  men  with  great  care, 
and  there's  no  wan  he'd  sooner  have  with  him  than 
you.  Will  ye  come?  " 

Redpath  turned  to  his  employer,  a  wistful,  eager  ex- 
pression in  his  eyes.  To  his  amazement,  Mr.  Gilman 
was  nodding  his  head  briskly. 

"  If  there  is  anything  that  we  can  do,  Barney,  to 
assist  in  the  recapture  of  these  rascals,  you  may  be 
sure  we  will  do  it.  It  rests  entirely  with  Sheridan 
whether  he  is  to  go  with  you  or  not.  What  do  you 
say,  my  lad?  " 

"  Good  Lord,  sir, —  I'd  like  nothing  better,"  cried 
Sherry.  "  But  it  may  be  an  all  night  job.  Do  you 
feel  sure  you  can  spare  me  for  — " 

"  I  shall  get  along  very  nicely  without  you,"  said  Mr. 
Gilman.  Then  he  turned  to  Barney  Doyle  and  added,  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye :  "  I  save  the  cost  of  a  substantial 
meal,  you  see.  by  letting  him  go  before  he  has  had 


254  SHERRY 

his  supper,  Barney.  That  is  worth  considering  in  these 
hard  times,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Bedad,  sir,  ye're  right,"  said  Barney,  after  an 
instant's  reflection.  His  grin  broadened.  "  But  have 
ye  considered  what  a  divil  of  a  breakfast  he'll  get  away 
with  in  the  morning?  " 

"  Sufficient  unto  the  day,  Barney,  is  the  evil  thereof. 
It  is  the  custom  of  a  great  many  people  to  let  tomor- 
row take  care  of  today.  I  shall  try  the  experiment 
for  once  in  my  life.  Go  along,  Sherry.  You'd  better 
take  my  fur  coat  and  arctics.  By  the  way,  Barney,  in 
the  event  that  the  sheriff  has  not  offered  a  reward  you 
may  say  to  him  that  I  stand  ready  to  give  one  thousand 
dollars  for  the  capture  of  one  or  both  of  these  men." 

"  For  the  love  of  — "  gasped  Barney  Doyle,  his  eyes 
bulging. 

"  I  consider  it  to  be  my  duty  as  a  citizen,"  added 
Andy  Gee,  bowing  ever  so  slightly  as  if  in  response  to 
shouts  for  a  speech.  "  You  will  not  forget  to  tell 
him?" 

"  I  should  say  not !  But,  bedad,  sir,  it's  not  up  to 
you  to  be  offerin'  a  reward  for  — " 

"  The  sheriff  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  said  the  other 
tersely. 

"  I'm  not  wishin'  ye  any  bad  luck,  Mr.  Gilman,  but 
I  hope  ye  have  to  pay  the  thousand  dollars,  sir. 
They're  a  couple  of  bad  eggs.  They  ought  to  be  sint 
up  fer  life." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Gilman,  without  interest.  "  I 
know  very  little  about  the  case.  My  young  friend  here 
is  an  unusually  considerate  chap.  He  has  not  inflicted 


SHERRY  255 

me  with  repeated  accounts  of  his  exploit.  Indeed,  I 
have  had  hard  work  to  get  him  to  talk  about  it  at  all. 
Modesty  is  the  rarest  of  virtues,  my  dear  Barney,  and 
he  appears  to  have  more  than  his  share  of  it." 

"  He's  a  great  lad,  sir,"  said  Barney  Doyle,  beaming. 
"  I  was  savin'  to  Patsy  Burke  only  last  night  goin'  over 
the  evints  of  the  day, —  (I  came  across  him,  sir,  on  his 
way  home  after  closin'  hours  at  the  Sunbeam,  for  fear 
ye'd  think  I  was  frequentin'  a  saloon  in  uniform), —  I 
was  sayin'  to  Patsy  that  — " 

"  Never  mind  what  you  said  to  Patsy,  Barney," 
broke  in  Redpath,  impatient  to  be  off  and  not  at  all 
fancying  the  encomiums  of  his  friend,  the  barkeeper. 
"  We  ought  to  be  on  our  way.  Sure  you  don't  mind, 
Mr.  Oilman?" 

"  Quite  sure.  I  shall  wait  up  until  you  come  in,  just 
to  hear  whether  I  am  out  the  thousand  dollars." 

"  Better  not  wait  up,  sir,"  protested  Sherry. 
"  There  is  no  telling  when  — " 

"  I  have  an  old  man's  feeling  that  you  are  going  on  a 
wild  goose  chase,"  said  Andrew  Gilman,  pursing  his 
thin  lips.  "  You  will  be  home  by  twelve,  and  empty- 
handed,  I  fear." 

"  And  ye'll  sleep  better,"  said  Barney  Doyle  affably, 
"  if  ye  know  that  your  thousand  dollars  is  safe  for  the 
night  at  least,  beggin'  your  pardon,  sir." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  other,  smiling.  "  It  is  a  stand- 
ing reward,  however.  Don't  forget  that,  Barney." 

Ten  minutes  later,  Redpath  and  his  friend  the  po- 
liceman were  on  their  way  to  the  street  car  line  in  Valley 
Street,  and  Andrew  Gilman  was  pacing  the  library,  his 


256  SHERRY 

shoulders  sagging  a  little  more  than  usual,  his  thin 
hands  clasped  tightly  behind  -his  back.  In  his  eyes  was 
the  look  of  one  who  has  passed  through  a  grave  crisis 
and  still  doubts  his  own  senses.  He  wiped  his  brow ;  it 
was  wet  with  the  sweat  of  relief.  From  time  to  time 
he  shook  his  bent  head,  and  once  he  muttered :  "  God, 
I  never  dreamed  that  I  could  tremble  at  the  sight  of  a 
policeman, —  I  never  dreamed  it  could  happen  to  me." 

He  had  a  bottle  of  burgundy  brought  up  from  the 
cellar  and  drank  two  glasses  of  it  with  his  supper.  Not 
in  years  had  he  done  such  a  thing  as  this.  The  servant 
was  dumbfounded  when  she  received  the  order.  She 
had  been  with  the  Gilmans  for  a  decade  and  never  before 
had  she  served  wine  to  the  master  except  on  rare  occa- 
sions when  moderately  bibulous  guests  required  some 
sort  of  sacrifice  on  his  part  in  the  mistaken  name  of 
hospitality. 

The  wine  restored  the  brightness  to  his  eyes ;  a  sort 
of  fictitious  confidence  replaced  the  despairing  look 
that  had  been  in  them  before.  After  supper  he  re- 
sumed his  pacing  of  the  floor,  but  now  his  head  was 
erect  and  his  senses  alert. 

Not  once  but  a  hundred  times  in  passing  did  he  glance 
at  the  face  of  the  tall  clock  in  the  corner.  At  nine 
o'clock  he  took  down  the  telephone  receiver,  and  in  a 
voice  that  shook  slightly  with  nervousness,  asked  for 
police  headquarters.  Before  doing  this  he  quietly 
opened  the  back  hall  door  and  for  a  full  minute  stood 
listening  at  the  bottom  of  the  servants'  stairs.  He 
heard  the  two  women  chattering  indistinctly  in  their 
room  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  It  was  their  habit  to 
go  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock. 


SHERRY  257 

"  This  is  Andrew  Gilman.  Have  you  had  any  word 
from  Black  Hill?" 

"  No,  sir.  Nothing  yet.  There's  a  train  down  at 
eleven  o'clock." 

"  You  don't  know  whether  they  got  what  they  went 
after?  Wouldn't  the  chief  have  telephoned?  You 
must  excuse  me  for  calling  up.  I  am  interested,  as 
you  may  know." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  know.  That's  a  good  sized  reward, 
Mr.  Gilman.  Took  my  breath  away,  and  everybody 
else's.  The  chief  said  he'd  let  us  know  as  soon  as  he 
could  get  to  a  telephone.  Shall  I  call  you  up  later?  " 

"  Don't  bother.  My  secretary,  Sheridan  Redpath,  is 
with  the  posse.  I  daresay  he  will  call  me  up.  I  should 
have  thought  of  that.  You  say  there  is  no  train  until 
eleven?  " 

"  Eleven-thirty-five  she's  due  here.  They  have  ar- 
ranged to  stop  her  at  Black  Hill.  It's  the  express,  you 
know,  and  never  stops  there  unless  ordered." 

"  Thank  you.     Good  night." 

Then  he  went  slowly  upstairs,  his  face  set,  his  body 
as  rigid  as  a  ramrod.  He  walked  straight  to  his  wife's 
bedroom  door  and  rapped. 

Miss  Corse  opened  the  door.  She  was  shivering. 
For  a  moment  she  barred  his  entrance  long  enough  to 
whisper  hoarsely: 

"  I  don't  want  to  get  mixed  up  in  this  business, 
Mr.  Gilman.  I'm  an  honest,  law-abiding  woman. 
You've  got  to  swear  on  your  soul  that  my  name  will 
never  be  mentioned  if  this  thing  gets  out.  It's  my  due. 
I  never  dreamed  — " 

"  You  may  rest  easy,  Miss  Corse,"  he  said  persua- 


258  SHERRY 

sively.  "  You  will  not  be  mixed  up  in  it."  He  pushed 
his  way  past  her.  She  followed  him  into  the  room  and 
closed  the  door  quickly. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  ask  me  to  keep  my  mouth  shut 
about  this  thing,  Mr.  Gilman,"  she  was  saying,  rather 
excitedly.  "  I  am  not  employed  here  to  — " 

He  turned  on  her.  His  face  was  ashen  now,  and  hu- 
mility was  in  his  voice. 

"  Miss  Corse,  I  can  only  implore  you  to  be  generous. 
You  have  it  in  your  power  to  ruin  us.  You  are  an 
honest  woman,  I  am  sure.  If  you  were  not,  I  would 
offer  money  to  you  for  your  silence.  Instead  of  that, 
I  humbly  beg  of  you  to  remember  that  we  are  old 
and—" 

"  I  sha'n't  blab,  if  that's  what  you  mean,"  she  inter- 
rupted, a  shamed  look  in  her  eyes.  "  You  needn't  think 
I'm  mean  enough  for  that.  I  only  want  to  be  sure 
you'll  leave  me  out  of  it,  if  anything  happens  hereafter. 
That's  all  I  want,  sir.  What  I  promised  you  this 
morning  still  goes.  But  you  can  see  for  yourself 
where  I'd  be  if  it  got  out  that  I  was  a  party  to  this  — " 

"  Oh,  for  heaven's  sake,  Miss  Corse,"  whined  a  queru- 
lous, peevish  voice  from  the  opposite  end  of  the  room, 
"  be  quiet.  Nothing  can  happen  to  you.  Haven't  I 
told  you  a  thousand  times  today  that  everything  will 
come  out  all  right  ?  " 

Beyond  the  foot  of  the  great  four  poster,  in  the 
depths  of  a  chair  that  enveloped  her  fat  little  body 
quite  completely,  sat  an  old  woman,  her  back  to  the 
door.  She  did  not  even  so  much  as  look  around  when 
the  door  was  opened  to  admit  her  husband.  She  ig- 
nored him  entirely. 


SHERRY  259 

"  That's  all  right  enough  to  say,  Mrs.  Gilnaan,"  be- 
gan the  nurse,  "  but  — " 

"Well,  isn't  ray  promise  enough  to  satisfy  you?" 
demanded  the  woman  in  the  chair. 

"  You  have  nothing  to  fear,  Miss  Corse,"  repeated 
Mr.  Gilman  quietly,  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  formidable 
back  of  the  big  chair.  There  was  a  steely  glitter  in 
his  eyes,  and  a  strange  tightening  of  skin  about  his 
lips. 

"  Young  Redpath  won't  stand  for  this,"  persisted  the 
nurse.  "  He  won't  be  a  party  to  — " 

"  Don't  use  that  word  again,"  snapped  the  old  lady. 

"  Redpath  will  never  know,"  said  Mr.  Gilman  ;  "  I  can 
guarantee  that  much,  Miss  Corse.  He  has  gone  off  into 
the  country  with  a  searching  party.  There !  "  he  broke 
in  on  himself,  smiling  sardonically.  "  I  made  use  of  an 
objectionable  word.  My  profound  apologies!"  The 
sound  of  a  sniff  came  from  the  chair.  "  He  will  not  re- 
turn before  midnight.  It  was  really  providential,  his 
going  off  like  this.  I  was  racking  my  brain  for  an 
excuse  to  send  him  out  for  a  few  hours,  and  along  came 
this  bit  of  good  luck." 

He  crossed  over  and  opened  the  door  to  Mrs.  Gil- 
man's  sitting-room,  switching  on  the  light  as  he  did 
so.  Miss  Corse,  her  back  against  the  hall-door,  was 
going  on  feverishly. 

"  The  papers  say  that  outside  influence  was  brought 
to  bear  on  the  jailers,  and  that  there  must  have  been 
bribery.  What  do  you  know  about  that,  Mr.  Gil- 
man? " 

Mr.  Gilman  was  searching  the  other  room  with  eyes 
in  which  perplexity  soon  gave  way  to  alarm. 


260  SHERRY 

"  There's  no  one  here,"  he  muttered,  and  again  the 
moisture  started  out  on  his  forehead.  "  What,  in  the 
name  of  God,  have  you  done  — " 

"  Bribery  is  a  serious  thing,"  went  on  Miss  Corse. 
"  If  you  had  anything  to  do  with  paying  those  — " 

He  turned  back  into  the  room.  The  expression  in 
his  face  was  so  terrible  that  the  nurse's  indictment 
trailed  off  into  a  mere  whisper.  His  lips  were  working 
spasmodically,  but  no  articulate  sound  issued.  Sud- 
denly his  blazing  eyes  left  the  emotionless  figure  in  the 
chair  and  fixed  themselves  upon  a  door  in  the  upper 
corner  of  the  room.  It  opened  an  inch,  then  two,  then 
wide  enough  to  disclose  the  figure  on  the  opposite  side. 

Mr.  Gilman  leaned  against  the  wall  and  put  his  hand 
over  his  heart. 

"  God,  I  thought  you  had  ruined  everything  by  let- 
ting him  go  out  — " 

"  Come  out !  "  said  Mrs.  Gilman,  turning  in  her  chair. 
"  I  told  you  it  wasn't  necessary  to  hide.  No  one  — " 

"  I'm  taking  no  chances,"  muttered  the  man  who 
came  forth  from  his  hiding-place  and  shot  a  shifty, 
roving  glance  at  all  the  doors  and  windows.  "  I'm  too 
old  a  bird  for  that."  He  advanced  a  few  steps  into 
the  room,  his  gaze  resting  on  the  shivering1  nurse. 
"  Don't  be  scared.  I've  had  a  good  supper.  I'm  not 
going  to  eat  you,  Miss  Corse." 

"  Oh,"  gasped  Miss  Corse.  "  How  can  you  joke 
about  anything  when  we're  all  in  such  a  stew  over  — 

"  Stew !  "  he  broke  in  gaily.  "  That's  the  word  I've 
been  wanting  ever  since  I  swallowed  it.  Stew,  that's 
what  it  was,  and  it  was  all-fired  good  after  the  fare  I've 


SHERRY  261 

been  having.  I  couldn't  think  of  anything  but  hash, 
and  I  knew  it  couldn't  be  that." 

He  was  wearing  a  long,  quilted  dressing-gown  that 
fitted  him  much  too  snugly.  His  hands  were  shoved 
into  the  lower  pockets  and  drawn  around  in  front  of  him 
as  far  as  the  slack  would  allow.  His  strong,  powerful 
neck  was  collarless.  A  glance  lower  down  would  have 
revealed  feet  encased  in  big  carpet-slippers,  and  above 
them  the  legs  of  grey  tweed  trousers.  His  pale,  heavy 
face  had  been  recently  scrubbed  and  shaved;  the  blue- 
black  of  the  stubble  formed  an  ugly  shadow  that  ex- 
tended high  on  his  cheek  bones.  A  livid  red  scar 
marked  one  of  his  cheeks,  evidence  of  a  wound  recently 
healed.  Devilish  black  eyes  looked  out  from  beneath 
thick  eyebrows,  and  between  them  lay  two  deep  furrows 
reaching  well  down  to  the  bridge  of  a  fine,  broad  nose. 
His  lips  were  thin,  his  mouth  wide,  and  there  was 
always,  no  doubt,  the  suggestion  of  a  smile  at  the  cor- 
ners. There  were  many  grey  hairs  in  the  thick  black 
mop  that  covered  his  head. 

"  It  is  not  the  time  or  place  for  jesting,"  said  Mr. 
Gilman,  straightening  his  bent  figure  and  meeting  the 
eyes  of  the  other  with  some  show  of  severity.  "  We 
have  to  decide  upon  some  — " 

"  Just  a  minute,"  interrupted  the  other,  stopping  be- 
side Mrs.  Gilman's  chair.  She  reached  up  and  took  his 
hand  in  hers.  Andrew  Gilman  drew  himself  a  little 
more  erect.  "  Did  I  hear  you  say  that  a  search  party 
has  gone  out  into  the  country  ?  That  means  they  must 
have  had  a  tip  of  some  kind." 

"  A  couple  of  suspicious  characters  are  reported  as 


262  SHERRY 

being  in  the  woods  up  at  Black  Hill,"  said  the  old  man, 
his  voice  sinking. 

"  And  this  Redpath  boy  is  out  with  the  party?  " 

"  Yes.     I  sent  him." 

"  Well,  that's  comforting,"  said  the  big  man,  drawing 
a  long  breath  and  squaring  his  shoulders.  "  He's  a 
naughty  young  thing!  See  what  he  did  to  me?  I'll 
carry  this  for  ever.  I  ought  to  make  him  pay  for 
it." 

"  You  are  not  to  harm  that  boy,  do  you  under- 
stand? "  cried  the  older  man  sharply.  "  He  did  his 
duty  as  a  man  — " 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  waste  time  on  him.  I  haven't 
anything  against  him  anyhow.  Nobody  likes  a  brave 
man  more  than  I  do.  What's  more,  I  guess  I'm  just  as 
well  off  if  I  don't  tackle  him." 

"  Not  face  to  face,  at  any  rate,"  said  Andrew  Oil- 
man, i 

"  It  is  a  shame  the  way  your  face  has  been  disfigured 
by  that  — "  began  the  old  lady,  a  sob  in  her  voice. 

The  intruder  leaned  over  and  stroked  her  grey  head 
gently.  "  Now  don't  you  go  worrying  about  that.  I 
was  too  pretty  for  my  own  good  anyway.  You 
wouldn't  think,  would  you,  Miss  Corse,  that  I  was  a 
regular  Adonis  up  to  the  time  I  got  this  crack  ?  " 

.  Miss  Corse  shrank  back  and  muttered :  "  If  you  will 
excuse  me,  I  think  I'll  go  to  my  own  room.  I  —  I  —  if 
you  need  me,  just  call." 

She  vanished  quickly.  The  man  in  the  dressing  gown 
was  at  the  door  an  instant  later,  listening  intently.  He 
heard  her  close  the  door  to  the  room  across  the  hall. 

"  Do  you  trust  that  woman?  "  he  inquired,  scowling. 


SHERRY  263 

"  We  have  to  trust  her,"  said  Mr.  Oilman.  "  She 
isn't  blind,"  he  added  sardonically. 

"  I  don't  like  her." 

"  It  is  quite  evident  that  she  doesn't  like  you,  so  it's 
all  even.  Was  it  necessary  for  you  to  hide  in  that 
closet  just  now?  If  there  had  been  unwelcome  visitors 
at  the  door,  you  would  have  stood  a  much  better  chance 
by  remaining  near  a  window.  It  isn't  far  to  the 
ground.  You  — " 

"  I  thought  it  might  have  been  young  Redpath." 

"  He  never  comes  near  this  room.  Have  you  found  a 
decent  suit  of  clothes,  one  that  is  anywhere  near  a 
fit?" 

"  Nothing  but  this  one,  and  it  looks  new.  Maybe 
you  don't  feel  like  giving  it  away.  The  coat  and  vest 
are  a  little  tight,  that's  all." 

"You  are  welcome  to  them.      Shoes?" 

"  Yes.  Pretty  respectable.  Pinch  a  little  bit,  but  I 
guess  I  can  stand  'em.  It's  a  poor  trade  for  you.  The 
duds  I'm  leaving  behind  are  awful.  Stylish  but  awful ! 
I  got  'em  in  New  York  last  year.  They've  seen  some 
damn'  hard  use." 

The  old  man  passed  his  hand  over  his  brow.  "  What 
a  fool  you  were  to  come  back  to  this  town.  What,  in 
heaven's  name,  possessed  you  to  come  here  after  all 
these  years?  " 

"  Don't  answer,"  cried  Mrs.  Gilman  angrily.  "  You 
are  a  free  man.  You  can  go  where  you  please.  Least 
of  all  should  you  give  an  account  of  your  movements  to 
him.  He  has  done  nothing  but  ask  that  question  since 
last  night.  After  all  these  years,  hey?  I'd  like  to 
know  what  they've  been  to  me.  I'd  like  to — " 


264  SHERRY 

"  Cut  out  the  family  rough-stuff,  please,"  interrupted 
the  escaped  burglar,  not  unkindly.  "  Let's  stick  to 
cases.  Just  to  satisfy  your  curiosity,  I'll  tell  you  why 
I  drifted  down  here.  They  were  pretty  close  to  me  in 
Chicago.  I  had  to  get  out  to  Hammond  on  street  cars. 
It  was  no  time  for  me  to  pick  and  choose  my  direction 
or  my  destination.  They  would  have  had  me  in  a 
couple  of  hours,  that's  sure.  This  fellow  Briscoe, —  if 
that's  his  right  name, —  has  been  trailing  with  me  for 
the  last  six  months.  I  fished  him  out  of  the  East  River 
one  night  and  I  couldn't  shake  him  to  save  my  soul. 
He's  all  right.  He'd  die  for  me.  Mean  little  rat,  but 
as  square  as  they  make  'em.  It  was  he  who  tipped  me 
off  in  Chicago.  Somehow  he  got  wise  to  the  bulls  and 
put  me  wise  just  in  time.  We  beat  it  together.  God 
knows  I  hadn't  the  remotest  intention  of  coming  to  this 
gosh-awful  burg.  We  got  this  far  on  a  freight  and 
then  received  the  kick.  He  boned  a  little  grub  up  in 
the  north  end  of  town  and  we  hung  around,  waiting  for 
a  chance  to  get  out  without  walking.  Then  I  remem- 
bered all  that  silver  and  stuff  out  there  in  the  country. 
I  hadn't  been  on  the  place  in  more  than  twenty  years, 
but  I  knew  it  as  well  as  I  know  my  name.  I  always 
hated  the  old  rip  anyway,  so  —  we  went  to  it,  damn 
the  luck.  That's  how  I  happened  to  come  to  this  burg, 
and  you  know  why  I've  stayed  so  long." 

"  You  are  not  to  be  blamed  for  anything,"  cried  the 
old  woman,  twisting  her  fingers.  "  You  were  driven 
into  this  awful  life.  God  will  surely  punish  some  one 
for  all  that  has  happened  to  you." 

The  fellow  grinned.  He  had  a  sense  of  humour. 
"  God  alone  has  a  record  of  all  the  things  that  have 


SHERRY  265 

happened  to  me,  so  we'll  have  to  leave  it  to  Him.  My 
own  memory  is  a  little  hazy,  I  fear." 

"  You  must  have  been  a  fool  to  think  that  you  could 
get  off  with  all  that  silver.  You  would  have  been  — " 

"  You  don't  for  a  minute  imagine  that  we  were  going 
to  advertise  ourselves  by  carrying  a  sack  of  silver 
around  on  our  backs,  do  you?  What  was  the  matter 
with  burying  it  safely  up  there  in  the  woods?  It  would 
have  been  as  safe  as  the  Bank  of  England  for  just  as 
long  as  we  cared  to  leave  it  there.  We  had  the  spot 
picked  out.  Nothing  to  it !  " 

"  My  God,"  groaned  the  old  man,  suddenly  covering 
his  eyes  with  his  hands.  "  My  God !  " 

The  burglar  stared  at  him  unconcernedly.  "  You 
hate  the  old  girl  as  much  as  I  do.  You  ought  to  be 
disappointed  because  I  didn't  get  away  with  the 
stuff." 

"  She  may  be  my  sister,  and  all  that,"  came  front 
Mrs.  Gilman,  her  old  voice  hardening,  "  but  I  for  one- 
wouldn't  have  cried  much  if  she  had  lost  the  whole  of 
it." 

Andrew  Gilman,  with  an  effort,  regained  control  of 
his  shaken  nerves.  He  faced  the  pair  of  them.  The 
younger  man  had  seated  himself  on  the  arm  of  Mrs. 
Gilman's  chair. 

"  That  is  all  behind  us.  We  have  to  think  of  the  im- 
mediate future.  You  cannot  stay  here  a  minute  longer 
than  is  absolutely  necessary.  I  would  to  God  you  could 
get  away  safely  tonight,  but  I'm  afraid,  desperately 
afraid.  Tomorrow  night,  perhaps,  but  — " 

"  There  he  goes  again,"  moaned  his  wife,  "  talking 
about  turning  you  out  of  the  house,  with  danger  every- 


266  SHERRY 

where,  and  zero  weather  —  Oh,  I  wish  God  would  pay 
him  back  for  all  the  — " 

"  Never  mind,"  soothed  the  younger  man.  "  There's 
nothing  else  for  him  to  do.  I've  got  to  get  out  of  this 
town.  I  can't  stay  cooped  up  here  in  this  room  for 
ever.  It  would  be  almost  as  bad  as  jail." 

"  I  don't  care,  it's  inhuman,  it's  cruel  — " 

"And  now  about  this  partner  of  yours,"  said  Mr. 
Gilman  curtly.  "  Have  you  any  idea  where  he  is  at  this 
moment?  " 

"  He's  nowhere  near  Blaek  Hill,  if  that's  what  you 
mean.  They'll  never  get  him.  Unless  I  miss  my  guess 
badly,  he's  in  St.  Louis  by  this  time." 

"  Does  he  know  who  you  really  are?  " 

"  Nobody  knows  that." 

"  Where  did  you  separate  last  night  ?  " 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  the  case?  " 

Mr.  Gilman  sighed.  "  You  don't  have  to  answer  un- 
less you  care  to,  of  course." 

"  Well,"  said  the  other  grudgingly,  "  we  said  good- 
T)ye  in  the  alley  back  of  the  jail.  I  gave  him  the 
proper  steer,  and  that  was  enough.  He's  as  slick  as 
»n  eel.  He  thinks  I'm  in  Chicago  now,  if  that  eases 
your  mind." 

"  It  does,  tremendously,"  said  Mr.  Gilman.  "  You 
saw  by  the  paper  this  morning  that  there  is  talk  of 
bribery,  and  you  heard  what  Miss  Corse  said.  I  want 
to  say  to  you  here  and  now  that  I  would  have  let  you 
rot  in  jail  before  I  would  have  helped  you  by  so  much 
as  the  lifting  of  a  finger." 

"  I  can  believe  that,"  said  the  other,  sneering.  "  I 
didn't  ask  for  help,  did  I?  " 


SHERRY  267 

"  You  knew  it  would  'be  useless,"  said  Mrs.  Gilman. 
Not  once  had  she  addressed  a  remark  to  her  husband. 
"  Heaven  knows  that  I  could  do  nothing,  tied  down 
as  I  am  — " 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  "  demanded  the 
refugee.  "  Write  a  note  exonerating  the  sheriff  and 
his  men?  That's  the  way  it  sounds." 

"  It  looks  bad  for  that  j  ailer,"  said  Mr.  Gilman,  in 
some  distress.  "  Of  course,  I  know  he  was  not  tam- 
pered with,  but  —  Well,  I'm  sorry  for  him." 

"  Rats !  He  was  an  easy  mark  and  he  deserves  a 
panning.  Well,  have  you  doped  anything  out?  How 
am  I  to  make  my  getaway?  " 

"  You  must  remain  here  until  tomorrow  night,  at 
least.  By  that  time  I  shall  have  arranged  something. 
Nothing  can  be  done  tonight.  In  the  meantime,  be  ex- 
tremely careful.  Miss  Corse  will  hold  her  tongue,  but 
the  servants  must  not  know  that  you  are  here.  Don't 
go  near  the  windows,  don't  — " 

"  Good  Lord,  do  you  think  I'm  a  damned  fool  ?  " 
snarled  the  man. 

Mr.  Gilman  hesitated.  "  I  have  thought  so  for 
twenty-five  years.  Good  night,  William." 

The  fellow  stretched  himself  lazily,  and  allowed  his 
arm  to  slip  down  over  Mrs.  Gilman's  shoulder.  There 
was  a  hard  glitter  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  over  his 
shoulder  and  said: 

"  Good  night,  Father." 

h&4U^v*jiJ^M«lX*'l*4Ji 

•*  t      i        •    •  \  il 

.^fYWUfwi,  ***">*  »iiil^rq0 

J«     A  A       > 


WILLIAM,  only  son  of  the  bitterly  estranged 
Gilmans,  was  supposed  to  have  died  ten 
years  prior  to  the  events  which  culminated 
in  his  sensational  return  to  the  house  in  which  he  was 
born.  The  truth  concerning  his  existence  in  the  flesh 
was  known  only  to  the  parents  and  to  the  sister-in-law 
who  despised  all  of  them.  At  the  time  of  his  banish- 
ment from  his  father's  house  many  years  before  the 
report  of  his  death  was  circulated  in  town,  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton  had  given  him  shelter  in  her  home,  where  he 
remained  in  seclusion  for  a  fortnight  and  then  went  his 
way,  cursing  his  father  and  his  aunt,  neither  of  whom 
he  ever  expected  to  see  again. 

At  that  time  he  was  about  twenty-six  years  of  age; 
he  had  been  looked  upon  as  a  model,  more  or  less  exem- 
plary young  man  by  all  who  knew  him  best,  although 
none  credited  him  with  the  stability  that  his  father 
possessed.  Only  the  father  knew  him  for  what  he 
really  was:  a  reprobate  whose  misdeeds  had  been 
screened  from  the  public  for  at  least  a  half  dozen  years. 
A  young  girl's  body  recovered  from  the  river  into 
which  she  had  thrown  herself  after  pleading  with  her  be- 
trayer in  the  presence  of  that  harassed  father  was  the 
rock,  figuratively  speaking,  on  which  Andrew  Gilman's 
endurance  split.  For  years  he  had  endured  constant 
and  increasing  acts  of  dishonour  in  which  he  alone  was 

the  sufferer  at  the  hands  of  his  unscrupulous  son.     Al- 

263 


SHERRY  269 

ways  he  had  carefully  covered  up  the  sins  of  the  son, 
and  to  this  day  not  one  of  the  men  associated  with  him 
in  the  conduct  of  his  business  had  the  slightest  knowl- 
edge of  the  true  situation.  He  so  altered  his  own  books 
and  accounts  that  not  even  the  book-keepers  discovered 
the  frequent  peculations  of  the  junior  member  of  the 
firm  of  Andrew  Gilman  &  Co.  The  secret  history  of 
the  firm  of  Gilman  &  Co.  abounded  in  transactions  that 
never  saw  the  light  of  day.  From  sly  pilferings  at  the 
outset  of  his  career  in  business,  William  Gilman's  depre- 
dations developed  into  bold  plunderings,  the  magnitude 
of  which  staggered  his  father. 

None  save  a  man  of  iron  could  have  faced  the  truth 
as  did  Andrew  Gilman.  The  sickening  wounds  in  his 
heart  were  never  exposed  to  the  public  eye.  The  world 
was  not  allowed  to  suspect  for  an  instant  that  all  was 
not  well  with  the  integrity  of  the  Gilmans. 

William  conducted  himself  with  noteworthy  decorum  '.' 
in  Farragut ;  for  that  much,  at  least,  Andrew  Gilman  •.  „  - 
was  thankful.  So  far  as  Farragut  was  concerned, 
there  was  but  one  opinion  concerning  the  younger  Gil- 
man, and  that  was  never  expressed  in  the  hearing  of  his 
forebear:  behind  his  back  it  was  said  that  William  was 
by  no  means  a  "  chip  of  the  old  block."  On  the  con- 
trary, he  was  a  friendly,  companionable  young  fellow 
who  spent  money  freely  but  sensibly.  Some  instinct, — 
perhaps  that  of  self-preservation, —  directed  his  con- 
duct along  the  straight  and  narrow  path  while  he  was 
under  the  observation  of  his  fellow-townsmen.  He  did 
not  deviate  an  inch  from  the  course  laid  down  by 
provincial  respectability ;  his  dissipations  were  genteel, 
his  habits  irreproachable,  his  morals  unquestioned. 


270  SHERRY 

Certain  analysts  asseverated  that  he  was  a  "  light- 
weight "  and  would  never  be  half  the  man  that  his 
father  was,  but  this  estimate  was  based  largely  on  the 
fact  that  he  wore  a  high  collar  and  had  been  seen  hav- 
ing his  nails  manicured. 

Judge  Emmons  was  of  the  opinion  that  he  might  out- 
grow these  signs  of  ineptitude. 

His  good  behaviour  was  confined  to  Farragut.  Chi- 
cago, Louisville,  St.  Louis  and  occasionally  New  York 
saw  the  other  side  of  him.  He  was  bad  to  the  core. 
Forgery,  theft, —  and  on  one  occasion  the  pawning  of 
his  mother's  jewels, —  were  charged  up  against  him  by 
a  long-patient  and  bewildered  father.  He  robbed  his 
parent  with  impunity,  confident  that  there  could  be  no 
such  thing  as  exposure  or  penalty. 

Then  came  a  day  when,  balked  in  his  designs  upon 
the  family  resources,  he  stole  from  an  important  cus- 
tomer, actually  taking  the  man's  purse  from  his  coat 
pocket  when  that  individual,  suspecting  no  evil  in  the 
house  of  Gilman  &  Co.,  left  the  garment  hanging  over 
the  back  of  a  chair  in  the  office  while  he  went  out  into 
the  shipping  department  with  the  head  of  the  firm. 
A  porter  was  suspected  of  the  theft.  Andrew  Gilman, 
apologizing  for  his  humiliated  house,  restored  the 
money  —  six  hundred  dollars  —  to  the  victim  and  the 
matter  was  dropped. 

This  went  on  for  three  or  four  years.  Not  one  word 
of  it  reached  Mrs.  Oilman's  ears.  She  was  serene  in 
the  belief  that  her  son  was  immaculate.  Andrew  Gilman 
would  have  kept  the  truth  from  her  for  ever  had  it 
been  possible.  She  worshipped  her  son ;  she  bitterly 
resented  what  she  called  fault-finding  in  her  husband 


SHERRY  271 

when  he  took  the  young  man  to  task  for  mistakes 
natural  to  the  young  and  inexperienced,  chiefly  in  con- 
nection with  money  matters. 

Andrew  Gilman  bore  it  all  in  silence,  and  suffered 
alone.  He  shielded  the  son,  he  shielded  the  mother. 
He  covered  up  the  tracks  of  the  thief  so  carefully  tha"t 
they  might  as  well  never  have  existed,  and  he  went  on, 
day  by  day,  looking  for  fresh  tracks  to  obliterate. 
Thousands  of  dollars  went  for  the  preservation  of  the 
family  name  and  the  protection  of  the  woman  who  had 
brought  a  thief  into  the  world. 

It  was  not  until  the  unhappy  girl  came  forward  with 
her  story  of  an  irreparable  wrong  that  he  arose  in 
revolt  against  iniquity.  There  was  a  frightful  scene. 
He  cursed  his  son.  The  girl  went  to  Mrs.  Gilman,  who 
put  a  mother's  curse  upon  her.  The  next  day  a  dead 
body  was  taken  from  the  river.  .  .  . 

Andrew  Gilman  turned  his  son  out  of  his  house  that 
night.  In  the  presence  of  the  distracted  mother,  he 
gave  the  young  man  a  roll  of  bills  and  told  him  that 
he  was  done  with  him  for  ever. 

Hoping  for  results  from  the  mitigating  influence  of 
his  mother,  William  sequestered  himself  at  the  home  of 
his  aunt,  who,  loathing  Andrew  Gilman  as  she  did  at  a 
time  when  her  own  quarrel  with  him  was  flourishing, 
was  satisfied  to  believe  that  her  nephew  had  been 
cruelly  mistreated  by  an  unreasonable,  narrow-minded 
father.  Whatever  may  have  transpired  in  the  Gilman 
house  during  the  two  weeks  that  he  remained  with  his 
aunt  and  uncle, —  Compton  was  alive  at  that  time, — 
William  was  brought  finally  to  the  realization  that  his 
mother  was  powerless  as  an  advocate.  She  had  failed 


272  SHERRY 

to   budge  his   father   from   the   stand   he  had   taken. 

He  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Andrew  Oilman, 
and  another  to  his  mother.  In  both  he  declared  that 
they  would  never  see  him  again ;  in  one  of  them  he  said  it 
with  diabolical  fury,  in  the  other  so  tenderly  that  its 
recipient  never  forgave  the  man  who  drove  him  out  into 
the  world.  He  forswore  the  name  of  Gilman.  To  his 
mother  he  wrote  that  he  could  no  longer  answer  to  a 
name  that  was  hateful  to  him;  to  his  father,  with  more 
nobility  than  he  intended,  he  said  that  as  long  as  his 
mother  bore  the  name  of  Gilman  he  would  not  risk 
adding  anything  to  her  degradation  by  using  it  him- 
self. He  was  "  going  to  hell  "  and  he  "  didn't  want  her 
to  know  it." 

For  ten  years  nothing  was  heard  of  him.  They  did 
not  know  whether  he  was  alive  or  dead.  The  mother, 
adoring  him  in  spite  of  all  that  she  now  knew  to  be 
the  truth  concerning  him,  grieved  terribly.  As  time 
went  on  and  no  word  came  from  William,  she  gave  up 
all  pretence  of  friendship  for  her  husband.  (Love  had 
long  since  ceased  to  exist  between  them.)  Her  grief 
and  despair  and  longing  were  made  easier  by  the  culti- 
vation of  a  vast  hatred  for  Andrew  Gilman.  Every  day 
added  something  to  the  raging  fire  that  consumed  her. 

More  than  once  he  was  tempted  to  seek  out  his  son 
and  restore  him  to  his  mother's  side,  if  only  to  escape 
the  abuse  she  heaped  upon  him,  but  calm  reflection  offset 
this  inclination  with  the  certainty  that  conditions  could 
not  be  improved  by  the  return  of  the  ne'er-do-well. 
Andrew  Gilman  had  but  one  hope  in  his  soul :  that  his 
son  would  work  out  his  own  regeneration  and  then  — 
come  home ! 


SHERRY  273 

Farragut  did  not  suspect,  nor  was  it  ever  allowed  to 
suspect.  William  Gilman  was  supposed  to  have  gone 
to  South  America  to  engage  in  business  for  himself.  In 
response  to  inquiries  both  of  the  Gilmans  never  failed  to 
say  that  he  was  **  doing  well  "  and  "  might  be  home  for 
a  visit  before  long." 

Mrs.  Compton  had  a  single  but  illuminating  experi- 
ence with  the  young  man  about  eight  years  after  his 
departure.  He  came  to  her  hotel  in  New  York  and 
tried  to  borrow  a  no  inconsiderable  sum  of  money  from 
her.  She  refused  and  he  became  so  abusive  that  she 
threatened  to  have  him  ej  ected  from  the  hotel.  He  was 
in  no  position  to  invite  an  encounter  with  the  house  de- 
tective or  police,  so  he  went  away  empty-handed,  swear- 
ing that  he  would  "  get  even  "  for  the  way  his  people 
had  treated  him.  Mrs.  Compton  never  spoke  of  this 
incident. 

And  then  one  day  came  an  end  to  Andrew  Oilman's 
secret  hopes.  His  son  was  in  jail  in  Philadelphia, 
charged  with  robbery.  After  ten  years  this  was  the 
first  word  they  had  had  from  him.  He  wrote  from  the 
prison,  smuggling  the  letter  out  by  a  discharged  inmate, 
and  implored  his  father  to  come  to  his  assistance. 
With  a  "  wad  of  money  "  he  could  fix  the  guilt  where 
it  really  belonged ;  they  were  trying  to  "  railroad  "  him ; 
it  was  a  "  frame-up  "  pure  and  simple.  If  they  "  got 
him  "  for  this  alleged  crime,  it  would  mean  at  least 
twelve  or  fourteen  years  in  prison.  Even  the  redoubt- 
able William  winced  at  that. 

He  was  smart  enough  to  direct  the  letter  to  his 
mother,  in  whom  lay  his  only  hope.  Mr.  Gilman  wrote 
to  his  son,  demanding  full  particulars.  He  addressed 


274  SHERRY 

the  letter  to  William  Colby  and  signed  himself  A.  Gill. 
He  went  to  Chicago  to  post  it.  In  due  time  a  reply 
came  from  the  prisoner.  It  was  as  his  father  had 
thought.  Cold-bloodedly,  William  Gilman  purposed  to 
hire  a  couple  of  witnesses  who  would  hang  the  guilt 
upon  another  man, — "  a  dirty  crook  who  ought  to  be  in 
the  pen  for  life  anyhow,  so  you  needn't  have  any  scru- 
ples." 

It  was  then  that  the  final  crash  came  between  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Gilman.  Despite  her  demand  that  he  carry 
out  the  plan  proposed  by  his  son,  he  refused  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  him  or  his  scheme  to  convict  a  man 
who  was,  in  any  event,  innocent  of  the  crime  for  which 
William  was  to  be  tried.  Moreover,  he  put  his  foot 
down  on  her  proposal  to  take  the  matter  into  her  own 
hands  and  furnish  the  necessary  cash.  To  clinch  his 
argument  he  swore  that  he  would  go  to  Philadelphia 
himself  and  expose  the  "  deal,"  if  it  were  attempted. 

From  that  day,  Mrs.  Gilman  never  spoke  to  her  hus- 
band. She  retired  to  rooms  which  she  selected  for  her- 
self, engaged  a  nurse  to  whom  she  confided  nothing  of 
her  physical  or  mental  sufferings,  although  she  com- 
plained of  both,  and  for  ten  years  lived  the  life  of  a 
recluse.  She  had  violent  fits  of  weeping  and  tremen- 
dous depression,  and  so  alarming  were  her  symptoms  at 
first  that  the  physician,  a  good  old-fashioned  country 
doctor,  "  looked  in  "  every  day  for  six  months,  at  three 
dollars  a  visit,  and  even  at  the  end  of  that  period 
seemed  reluctant  to  trust  her  out  of  his  sight  for  more 
than  a  day  at  a  time. 

Her  one  object  in  life  was  to  make  Andrew  Gilman  un- 
happy. With  the  short-sightedness  of  some  of  her  sex. 


SHERRY  275 

she  believed  that  there  is  no  surer  way  to  make  a  man 
unhappy  than  to  let  him  see  that  he  is  the  supreme 

cause  of  misery.  fa* 

cu     u       j  if-         -ii,     11  i.1  i        j          11  j   ''  •'•**• 

she  hated  him  with  all  her  soul  and  revelled  in  it. 

The  pleasure  of  hating  him  would  not  have  been  so  keen, 
however,  if  she  could  have  looked  into  his  heart  just 
once  and  seen  what  was  there.  It  was  not  a  part  of 
her  calculations  that  he  should  enjoy  the  privilege  of 
hating  her  even  more  than  she  could  possibly  have 
hated  him.  His  hatred  of  her  terrified  him  at  times. 

William  "  Colby  "  was  "  sent  up  "  for  seven  years. 
His  father  went  east  soon  afterward  and,  with  the  aid  of 
private  detectives,  learned  much  of  the  history  of  the 
notorious  Bill  Colby.  He  had  served  a  short  term  in 
Sing  Sing  for  larceny,  and  more  than  once  had  escaped 
punishment  for  other  crimes  through  an  almost  uncanny 
ability  to  cover  up  his  tracks.  He  was  a  thief,  a  card- 
sharp,  a  blackmailer  and  a  bunco-steerer.  The  records 
also  revealed  a  startling  incongruity :  he  had  never  been  .,  , 
known  to  take  a  drink  of  intoxicating  liquor ! 

With  these  facts  in  his  possession,  Andrew  Gilman 
buried  the  last,  lingering  hope.  He  returned  to  Far- 
ragut  and  the  next  morning  the  Dispatch  printed  the 
interesting  news  that  William  Gilman,  only  son  of 
"  our  esteemed  fellow-citizen,  Andrew  Gilman,"  had  died 
in  Buenos  Aires. 

Twenty  years  after  leaving  his  home  town,  William 
Gilman  reappeared  in  the  flesh,  but  no  man  would  have 
recognized  in  him  the  fastidious,  natty  figure  of  old. 
Time  and  experience  had  made  another  man  of  him. 
He  had  grown  massive,  burly,  sinister.  The  evil  in  him 
had  expanded  its  physical  habitation  to  extraordinary 


proportions ;  it  was  as  if  nature  had  been  compelled  to 
meet  a  demand  for  more  room. 

Mrs.  Compton  broke  the  silence  of  years  when  she 
went  to  Andrew  Gihnan  with  the  news  that  his  son  had 
come  back  to  Farragut. 

A  few  words  only  are  necessary  to  explain  the  pres- 
ence of  William  Gilman  in  the  house  he  had  dishonoured. 
It  was  his  safest  refuge.  Fleeing  from  the  jail  in  the 
driving  snowstorm,  he  made  his  way  direct  to  the  big 
old  house  in  which  he  was  born.  Peering  through  a 
window  he  discovered  his  father  sitting  alone  in  the 
library.  With  the  assurance  and  confidence  of  a  fatal- 
ist, he  calmly  rang  the  door-bell.  .  .  .  No  one  would 
think  of  looking  for  him  there. 

His  mother  provided  him  with  money  for  the  trip  to 
the  Pacific  Coast  on  which  his  mind  was  set.  Andrew 
Gilman,  feeling  like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  gave  him  suitable 
clothing  and  besought  God's  aid  in  the  hazardous  un- 
dertaking that  was  to  follow. 

During  the  long,  trying  day  that  he  remained  quietly 
in  his  mother's  apartment,  William  was  given  the  treat- 
ment of  the  prodigal  son.  Toward  the  end  of  the  day 
the  fond  and  excited  old  woman  exhibited  her  last  will 
and  testament  to  him. 

By  this  she  meant  to  prove  to  him  that  she  still  loved 
and  trusted  him.  At  her  death  every  penny  that  she 
possessed, —  and  she  was  a  comparatively  rich  woman, 
—  was  to  go  to  her  "  beloved  son,  William  Gilman." 

William  put  his  arm  around  her  and  said  that  he 
hoped  God  would  let  her  live  to  be  a  hundred ! 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  posse  rounded  up  the  two  men  at  Black 
Hill,  and  in  disgust  released  them. 
Sherry  Redpath  was  in  high  spirits.  His 
mind  was  at  rest  concerning  Andrew  Gilman.  Obviously 
his  employer  was  not  involved  in  the  escape  of  the  two 
men.  His  offer  of  a  reward  for  their  apprehension  was 
in  itself  reassuring.  He  chuckled  delightedly  to  him- 
self, however,  as  he  thought  of  the  bomb  he  could  throw 
into  the  group  of  searchers  if  he  were  to  announce  that 
the  big  crook  was  known  to  both  Mr.  Gilman  and  Mrs. 
Compton. 

The  company  of  man-hunters,  for  strategic  pur- 
poses, were  scattered  throughout  the  four  day  coaches 
in  the  local  train.  Sherry  sat  alone  in  one  of  the  cane 
bottom  seats.  Looking  out  of  the  window  into  the 
swirling  steam  and  smoke  that  blew  low  from  the  pound- 
ing, noisy  locomotive,  he  allowed  his  thoughts  to  stray 
from  the  real  business  of  the  night. 

Morna  O'Brien  came  up  out  of  the  gliding  abyss  and 
took  her  seat  beside  him  as  he  dreamed  with  wide-open 
eyes.  He  recalled  her  admonitions.  They  were 
pleasing.  She  had  urged  him  to  be  careful.  That  sig- 
nified something,  at  least, —  indeed,  the  more  he  thought 
of  it,  the  greater  became  the  significance  of  her  con- 
cern. He  rehearsed  their  little  scene  at  parting.  His 
imagination  placed  her  in  the  seat  beside  him,  and  as 

277 


278  SHERRY 

he  repeated  from  memory  every  word  that  she  had 
uttered,  he  revelled  in  the  preposterous  fancy  that  she 
snuggled  close  to  him  in  the  dreary  day  coach  and 
whispered  them  into  his  enslaved  ear. 

All  day  long  he  had  been  thinking  of  her.  That  in 
itself  was  not  an  unusual  occupation  for  him,  but  on 
this  particular  day  he  approached  a  state  of  confi- 
dence that  made  all  previous  days  look  black  and 
chaotic.  He  had  almost  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
she  liked  him,  and  that  was  a  great  deal  farther  than  he 
had  ever  permitted  himself  to  go  before.  Her  manner 
that  morning, —  well,  he  tingled  a  little  as  he  recalled 
the  look  in  her  lovely,  troubled  eyes.  She  was  really 
interested  in  him.  She  had  been  worried  about  him. 
And  that  brought  the  comforting  thought  that  she 
might  even  now  be  sitting  at  home  worrying  herself  ill 
over  him!  (He  had  called  her  up  from  Klein's  drug- 
store just  before  the  train  pulled  out,  to  let  her  know 
that  he  was  off  on  a  trifling  expedition, —  nothing  to 
speak  of,  of  course,  as  there  probably  wouldn't  be  a  bit 
of  fight  left  in  'em  if  they  saw  they  were  surrounded, 
even  though  they  had  been  able  to  obtain  firearms. ) 

His  original  resolution  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf  now 
enjoyed  the  companionship  of  a  thriving  and  even  more 
attractive  resolve:  the  determination  to  so  order  his 
life  that  Morna  O'Brien  would  never  have  cause  to  be 
ashamed  of  him.  In  his  kindly  ruminations,  he  even 
went  so  far  as  to  arrogate  to  himself  the  singular  office 
of  protector-in-chief  to  this  wilful  maid.  Not  saying 
that  Jimmy  Burton  wasn't  a  most  desirable,  perhaps 
dependable  chap,  and  all  that, —  but  some  one  ought  to 
take  a  hand  there  before  it  was  too  late.  It  would 


SHERRY  279 

never  do  for  her  to  run  away  with  and  get  married 
to  a  Burton.  No  good  could  come  of  such  an  alliance. 
As  a  matter  of  fact, —  now  that  he  thought  of  it, —  it 
would  be  quite  as  much  of  a  calamity  for  Jimmy  to 
marry  a  Compton.  Any  way  you  looked  at  it,  they 
couldn't  possibly  live  happily  ever  afterward.  The 
ghost  of  the  feud  would  always  be  sitting  beside  them, 
grinning,  and  the  time  would  surely  come  when  — 

"  Black  Hill  Junction !  "  barked  a  raucous  voice  be- 
hind him,  and  he  got  up  with  a  sigh  to  go  out  into  the 
cold,  unfeeling  night. 

There  was  not  so  much  need  of  strategy  coming  down 
on  the  eleven  o'clock.  The  posse  united  in  excoriating 
the  station  agent  at  Black  Hill.  They  crowded  to- 
gether in  the  forward  end  of  the  smoking  car  and  raised 
their  voices  in  a  withering  chorus  of  scorn.  They  had 
experienced  an  hour  and  a  half  of  extreme  discomfort 
plodding  through  the  snow  toward  a  common  centre ; 
the  night  was  bitterly  cold  and  the  wind  was  high. 
Nearly  every  man  in  the  crowd  had  taken  the  precau- 
tion to  provide  against  pneumonia  and  other  ailments ; 
there  were  at  least  a  dozen  well-filled  flasks  in  the  posse 
when  it  began  the  chase.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  when 
the  station  at  Farragut  was  reached  the  flasks  were 
empty  and  the  posse  full. 

Redpath  was  cold  and  tired.  He  sat  with  Barney 
Doyle,  his  shoulders  hunched,  his  chin  buried  in  the  fur 
collar  that  was  fastened  close  about  his  neck.  From 
time  to  time  his  teeth  chattered.  A  dozen  men  tendered 
their  flasks. 

"  Take  a  good  fat  swig  o'  this,  Sherry.  It  will  tickle 
you  to  the  toes.  Don't  be  a  fool.  It  may  head  off  a 


280  SHERRY 

cold."  So  spoke  the  lord  high  sheriff  of  the  county, 
poking  his  "  pint  "  at  Redpath. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  the  other.  "  I'm  on  the 
wagon,  you  know." 

"  One  drink  won't  hurt  you  a  bit.  Medicinal  pur- 
poses. Just  as  you'd  take  quinine  if  it  was  prescribed 
by  a  doctor.  Lord,  how  it  warms  a  feller  up !  I  was 
frozen  stiff.  Never  felt  warmer  in  my  life  than  I  do 
right  now.  Drink  'er  down,  you  chump." 

A  lean  deputy  with  a  hollow  voice  waved  the  sheriff 
aside. 

"  Don't  do  that,  Sheriff.  He's  our  nice  little  Willie- 
boy.  He's  afraid  of  fire-water.  You  »ught  to  know 
better'n  — " 

"Are  you  afraid  to  touch  it?  "  broke  in  the  sheriff, 
eyeing  the  young  man  curiously. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Sherry.  "  I  simply  don't  in- 
tend to  touch  another  drop  of  the  stuff  as  long  as  I 
live,  Mr.  Sheriff,  that's  all." 

"  I  never  had  much  use  fer  a  feller  that  couldn't  take 
a  drink  or  two  and  then  say  he'd  had  enough, — 'spe- 
cially when  everybody  else  is  doin'  it  sensibly  and  — ' 

Sherry  interrupted  the  lean,  sneering  deputy. 
"  How  many  have  you  had  to-night,  Swigert  ?  " 

"Two," 'said  Swigert  loudly.  "  On*y  two.  But, 
lemme  tell  you  somethin',  if  I  wanted  any  more  I'd  take 
'em  an'  it  woul'n'  be  any  your  damn*  business.  Do  you 
get  me?  I'm  no  mollycoddle.  I  c'n  take  a  drink  with 
anybody.  I  — " 

"  I  merely  wanted  to  suggest  that  you've  had 
enough,"  said  Sherry  pleasantly.  "  If  you  take  an- 
other, you'll  begin  to  show  it,  Swigert." 


SHERRY  281 

"  Aw,  you  go  to  hell.  I  s'pose  because  you  are  old 
man  Redpath's  son,  and  went  to  college,  you  think 
you're  — " 

"  Go  and  sit  down,  Swigert,"  said  the  sheriff  roughly. 
"  Go  on,  now.  I  don't  want  to  have  to  tell  you 
again.  Now,  Sherry,  listen  to  me.  You're  shiverin' 
like  a  licked  dog.  Take  a  little  pull  at  this.  It 
can't—" 

"  Take  it  away,"  shouted  Redpath  angrily.  The 
sheriff  was  gently  waving  the  uncorked  bottle  under  his 
nose.  "  God  knows  I  want  a  drink, —  and  I  need  it,  too. 
But  I'm  not  going  to  take  one!  I  know  how  good 
it  would  make  me  feel.  You  can't  tell  me  anything 
about  it.  But  you  can't  tempt  me.  Take  it  away,  I 
say!" 

"  Well,  if  that's  the  way  you  treat  a  friend  who's  only 
trying  to  be  courteous  and — " 

"  I  apologize,  Mr.  Sheriff.  I'm  sorry  if  I  said  any- 
thing to  offend  you.  Forget  it,  please." 

"  And  you  still  won't  have  a  little  nip  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Just  as  you  say,  just  as  you  say."  The  sheriff 
took  a  long  pull  at  the  bottle  and  then,  with  grave  pre- 
cision, corked  it.  Slipping  it  into  his  coat  pocket,  he 
walked  away. 

"  That's  the  stuff,  Sherry,  me  boy,"  said  Barney 
Doyle,  his  red  face  beaming  with  pride.  "  Whin  I  tell 
the  old  lady  how  ye  turned  all  the  booze  down  tonight, 
and  you  freezin'  as  solid  as  annybody  and  shakin'  your 
teeth  out,  she'll  raise  the  roof  wid  song.  The  sheriff 
has  been  hittin'  it  up  all  day.  The  things  they're  hintin5 
at  in  the  newspapers,  and  all  that,  ye  see.  It's  got  on 


282  SHERRY 

his  nerves.  I'll  stake  me  soul  ye've  learned  him  a  lesson 
this  night.  The  way  he  put  up  that  bottle  tells  me 
he's  had  his  last  drink  for  the  present." 

"  He  gave  it  a  long  farewell  kiss,  I'll  say  that  for 
him,"  said  Sherry,  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

Barney  studied  his  young  friend's  face  for  a  mo- 
ment. "  Did  ye  want  a  drink  or  did  ye  not?  Ye  don't 
have  to  answer  unless  ye  want  to." 

"  I  never  wanted  one  so  much  in  my  life,"  said  the 
other  frankly. 

"  Then  all  the  more  credit  to  ye,"  said  Barney,  vastly 
relieved.  "  I'm  dom  glad  to  hear  it.  It  wouldn't  have 
meant  anything  at  all  if  ye  hadn't  wanted  it.  The  best 
pleased  man  in  town  will  be  Patsy  Burke  when  I  tell  him 
about  it.  Take  my  advice,  lad;  before  ye  turn  in  for 
the  night  soak  your  feet  in  hot  water  and  mustard. 
Many's  the  time  I've  had  Patsy  Burke  recommind  the 
tratement  to  me.  Bedad,  I'm  thinkin'  it  will  be  a  tre- 
menjous  relafe  to  old  man  Gilman  when  he  hears  his 
thousand  bucks  is  safe."  He  chuckled  loudly. 

It  was  Andrew  Gilman  who  rummaged  in  the  butlery 
for  mustard,  and  it  was  he  who  prepared  the  hot  foot 
bath  for  the  shivering  Redpath.  The  old  man  had 
waited  up  for  him. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  inquired  as  the  young  man  entered  the 
warm,  cosy  library.  He  looked  up  from  the  book  he 
was  reading,  but  did  not  arise. 

"  False  alarm,"  said  Sherry,  answering  the  brief 
question. 

"  I  thought  so.     Are  you  cold?  " 

"  I  guess  I'm  not  as  rugged  as  I  thought,"  said  the 


SHERRY  283 

young  man  sheepishly.  "  The  fire  feels  good."  He 
stood  close  to  the  blazing  logs,  his  back  to  the  fire- 
place. The  fire  had  been  lately  replenished.  "  Mighty 
good  of  you,  Mr.  Oilman,  to  stay  up  and  keep  the  fire 
going  like  this." 

"  Umph  !  "  The  speaker  eyed  the  young  man  closely. 
"  It  must  have  been  rather  a  strain  on  your  courage  to 
keep  from  it,  my  boy.  There's  nothing  like  it  when 
you're  chilled  to  the  bone."  That  was  his  way  of  dis- 
posing of  a  subject  that  another  might  have  gone  into 
at  length.  "  Be  off  to  bed  now.  Anything  you'd 
like?  " 

"  If  you'll  tell  me  where  I  can  find  some  mustard, 
I'll  — " 

"  Stay  where  you  are.  I'll  get  it.  It  is  as  cold  as 
Iceland  in  the  pantry." 

Half  an  hour  later  he  piled  some  extra  blankets  on 
top  of  the  grateful  but  mortified  young  athlete,  and 
admonished  him  to  be  careful  not  to  kick  them  off  in 
the  night. 

"  Sweat  it  out,"  he  said,  and  passed  into  his  own 
room. 

And  so  it  was  that  Sheridan  Redpath  slept  soundly 
within  whispering  distance  of  the  man  for  whom  the 
whole  country  was  being  raked,  on  whose  head  a  sar- 
donic price  had  been  put  by  a  craftier  man  than  any  of 
them,  and  of  whom  he  dreamed  most  unpleasantly  under 
the  weight  of  two  extra  blankets,  each  weighing  a  thou- 
sand pounds. 

Much  to  his  surprise  he  got  up  the  next  morning  feel- 
ing as  fit  as  a  fiddle.  There  was  no  trace  of  a  cold,  nor 
was  there  any  evidence  of  the  dolefully  anticipated  stiff- 


284  SHERRY 

ness  in  his  joints.  He  had  to  stretch  himself  pro- 
digiously before  he  could  believe  his  senses.  He  was 
awake  when  Mr.  Gilman  came  through  the  room  at  half- 
past  seven  o'clock,  and  responded  cheerily  to  the  rather 
anxious  inquiry  as  to  how  he  was  feeling. 

"  Never  finer,"  he  cried.  "  I'll  be  down  in  two  shakes 
of  a  lamb's  tail.  Great  stuff,  that  mustard." 

Mr.  Gilman  stopped  at  the  door,  his  hand  on  the 
knob. 

"  I  am  very  much  relieved,"  he  said  slowly,  almost 
calculatingly.  "  If  you  had  been  under  the  weather  this 
morning,  I  should  have  felt  obliged  to  go  to  Chicago 
myself, —  and  it  isn't  a  trip  that  I  relish." 

"  Chicago?     Something  sudden,  Mr.  Gilman?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  If  you  are  quite  sure  that  you  are 
feeling  up  to  it,  I  shall  ask  you  to  take  the  nine-thirty 
train  this  morning  in  my  place.  You  will  have  several 
hours  this  afternoon  in  which  to  attend  to  the  matter 
I  shall  speak  to  you  about  later  on." 

"  All  right,  sir.     I'll  be  right  down." 

"  You  will  catch  the  nine  o'clock  train  home  this 
evening  without  the  least  trouble." 

"  I  know.  Due  here  at  twelve-fifty-two.  I've  seen  it 
come  in  a  hundred  times,  more's  the  shame.  That 
shows  the  kind  of  hours  I  kept." 

"  It  also  shows  pretty  clearly  where  you  kept  them," 
said  Mr.  Gilman  drily. 

"  I  had  quite  a  range,"  said  Sherry,  in  high  good 
humour.  "  I  have  said  how-do-you-do  to  the  two 
o'clock  on  the  Big  Four,  the  two-forty  on  the  Wabash, 
—  sometimes  they  were  a  couple  of  hours  late,  at  that, — 
and  iVe  said  good-bye  to  the  milk  train  at  six  A.  M.  on 


SHERRY  285 

more  than  one  occasion.  It  is  no  treat  to  me  to  see  the 
trains  go  by." 

Mr.  Gilman  was  calmly  reading  the  Dispatch  at  the 
breakfast  table  when  he  bounded  downstairs  at  eight 
o'clock,  after  a  hurried  shave  and  bath. 

"  I  say,  Mr.  Gilman,  didn't  Mrs.  Gilman  have  a  good 
night?  "  he  inquired  anxiously.  "  I  saw  Miss  Corse 
dash  out  of  the  room  just  now  and  into  her  own.  She 
seemed  to  be  in  a  great  hurry,  so  I  — " 

"  Mrs.  Gilman  is  sometimes  very  exacting  and  im- 
patient," interrupted  the  other,  controlling  himself  only 
with  the  greatest  effort  of  the  will.  He  even  smiled, 
as  much  as  to  add  in  extenuation :  "  you  understand,  of 
course."  If  the  line  deepened  between  his  eyes,  and  if 
his  face  went  a  shade  whiter,  Sherry,  in  his  flurry,  did 
not  observe  the  changes.  "  Miss  Corse  has  to  fly  about 
pretty  lively  at  such  times."  He  laid  the  paper  down  a 
moment  later.  A  fine  moisture  appeared  on  his  fore- 
head. "  Perhaps  I'd  better  just  step  up  and  inquire. 
I  sha'n't  be  gone  a  minute.  Look  over  the  paper. 
There  is  no  news  of  your  fly-by-night  friends." 

He  was  gone  not  more  than  five  minutes.  "  It  is 
just  as  I  thought,"  he  said,  resuming  his  seat.  "  She 
had  a  sleepless  night.  Her  nerves  go  to  pieces  at  such 
times.  Now  about  this  trip  to  Chicago.  You  are  to 
deliver  a  package  to  the  Title  and  Trust  Company  to  be 
placed  in  their  vaults  pending  future  action.  I  have 
written  a  letter  of  instructions  to  them,  and  they  will 
give  you  a  receipt  for  the  package.  That  is  all  you 
will  have  to  do." 

"  It  sounds  easy,"  said  the  other,  smiling.  "  You 
don't  overwork  me,  I  must  say." 


286  SHERRY 

"  Umph  !  I  suppose  you  are  wondering  why  I  do  not 
send  the  package  up  by  express  or  registered  mail.  It 
would  seem  more  sensible,  wouldn't  it?  " 

"  Not  if  you'd  rather  trust  me  than  the  express 
company  or  the  U.  S.  Government." 

"  I  am  trusting  you  as  I  would  myself.  That  ex- 
plains everything." 

After  breakfast  he  placed  a  big  sealed  envelope  in 
the  young  man's  hand,  and  gave  him  the  letter  to  the 
Title  and  Trust  Company. 

"  You  will  need  ten  dollars  for  expenses.  Five-fifty 
for  railroad  fare,  seventy-five  cents  for  your  luncheon 
and  the  balance  for  a  dinner  at  the  Annex.  You  can 
get  a  very  satisfactory  meal  there  for  three  dollars  if 
you  are  cautious, —  including  the  tip." 

"  I'll  return  the  change." 

"  You  will  have  to  spend  something  for  street-car 
fare,"  the  old  man  reminded  him.  "  It  will  not  be 
necessary,  however,  to  tip  the  street  car  conductors," 
he  added,  and  winked. 

Redpath  carried  the  sealed  envelope  to  Chicago  and 
delivered  it  safely.  If  he  had  known  that  it  contained 
nothing  but  blank  sheets  of  paper,  he  would  not  have 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  when  it  passed  from  his  posses- 
sion into  that  of  the  Title  and  Trust  Company,  and  it  is 
quite  certain  that  the  gentleman  who  received  it  would 
not  have  been  so  careful  about  stowing  it  away  in  the 
vaults.  Neither  of  them  was  by  way  of  knowing  what 
was  in  the  mind  of  Andrew  Gilman  when  he  sent  his  sec- 
retary off  on  an  errand  that  would  keep  him  away  from 
home  for  a  well  calculated  length  of  time. 

When  the  nine  o'clock  train  on  the  Wabash  railroad 


SHERRY  287 

pulled  out  of  Farragut  that  night  one  of  its  passengers 
was  a  tall,  prosperous  looking  man  who  had  his  suit- 
case carried  into  compartment  C,  and  who  shook  hands 
cordially  with  Andrew  Gilman  on  the  station  platform 
before  following  the  porter  into  the  car. 

A  reporter  for  the  Dispatch  accosted  Mr.  Gilman  as 
he  was  returning  to  the  automobile  which  had  conveyed 
him  and  the  stranger  to  the  depot. 

"  Any  news,  Mr.  Gilman?  " 

"  Nothing  that  would  interest  the  public,"  replied  the 
old  man  pleasantly. 

"  You  were  seeing  some  one  off.  Would  you  mind 
giving  me  the  name?  We're  awfully  short  on  local  stuff 
tonight.  A  two  or  three  line  '  personal '  would  help." 

"  That  was  a  Mr.  Alfred  Griffiths,  of  St.  Louis.  He 
stopped  off  on  his  way  from  the  East  to  see  me  on  a 
little  matter  of  business.  Nothing  important." 

The  reporter  was  writing :  "  Mr.  Alfred  Griffiths,  a 
prominent  citizen  of  St.  Louis,  Missouri,  was  in  the  city 
yesterday  for  a  few  hours.  He  returned  to  his  home 
last  night.  Mr.  Griffiths,  who  has  been  in  the  East, 
says  that  the  blizzard  was  particularly  severe  in  west- 
ern Pennsylvania  and  Ohio.  While  here  he  was  the 
guest  of  Mr.  Andrew  Gilman." 

"  What  have  you  put  down  there  ?  "  demanded  Mr. 
Gilman. 

The  young  man  read  the  "  item,"  purposely  omitting 
the  gratuitous  information  concerning  the  blizzard. 

"  Scratch  out  what  you  said  about  Mr.  Griffiths  be- 
ing my  guest.  It  was  a  business  matter.  No  doubt  he 
saw  other  people  while  here.  I  don't  like  to  have  my 
name  in  the  paper,  as  a  matter  of  fact." 


288  SHERRY 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Gilman.     Still  pretty  cold,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Pretty  sharp.  Want  a  ride  down  ?  I  go  past 
your  office." 

"  Thanks.     Drop  me  at  the  Tremont,  please." 

They  got  into  the  automobile,  which  lumbered  off 
over  the  snow-piled  street. 

"  Anything  been  heard  of  those  fellows  who  broke  out 
of  jail?  "  inquired  Mr.  Gilman. 

"  Not  a  word.  They  never  will  hear  of  them," 
vouchsafed  the  reporter  scathingly.  "  This  gang  we 
got  in  office  now  is  the  worst  ever.  They  couldn't  catch 
a  drop  of  water  in  a  two-gallon  bucket.  And  see  what 
a  glorious  street  cleaning  department  we've  got. 
Lordy,  this  is  enough  to  tear  an  automobile  to  pieces. 
I  wish  we  had  a  few  more  public-spirited  citizens  like 
you,  Mr.  Gilman*  You  made  a  great  hit  the  way  you 
jumped  in  and  cleaned  off  the  sidewalks  — " 

"Ahem!" 

"  By  the  way,  is  it  true  that  you  intend  to  remodel 
the  row  of  store-rooms  between  Cass  and  Logan  streets 
next  spring?  " 

Mr.  Gilman  gulped.  "  Is  there  a  rumour  to  that 
effect?" 

"  Somebody  came  into  the  office  a  day  or  two  ago  and 
said  he  saw  Sherry  Redpath  sizin'  the  buildings  up  the 
other  day.  That's  enough  to  start  a  rumour  these 
days." 

"  I  am  not  ready  to  give  out  anything  about  it  at 
present.  Come  and  see  me  later  on." 

"  You  won't  mention  it  to  any  one  else,  will  you  ? 
I'd  like  to  get  a  '  scoop  '  on  it." 

"  You  may  trust  me  not  to  mention  it," 


SHERRY  289 

"  Anything  in  Mr.  Griffiths'  visit  that  would  be  of 
interest  to  the  readers  of  the  Dispatch?  I  saw  you 
talking  pretty  busily  to  him  down  at  the  far  end  of  the 
platform.  Sort  of  out  of  ear-range,  you  might  say." 

"  The  observation  car,  it  seems,  invariably  stops  at 
that  end  of  the  platform.  He  reserved  a  compartment 
from  my  house  this  afternoon.  That  is  how  we  hap- 
pened to  be  down  there." 

"  I  thought  maybe  he  was  a  big  doctor  from  some- 
where, called  hi  to  see  Mrs.  Gilman,"  ventured  the  re- 
porter. "  He  looked  the  part  all  right." 

"  Just  because  a  man  wears  spectacles  and  a  silk  hat 
is  no  sign  that  he  is  a  doctor,  my  boy." 

"  I  guess  that's  right.  The  orneriest  gambler  in 
town  wears  a  plug  hat  and  a  Prince  Albert  morning, 
noon  and  night.  And  he  wears  a  fur  coat,  too, — 
phony,  of  course,  not  the  real  goods  like  the  one  Mr. 
Griffiths  had  on.  You  can  always  tell  the  real  article, 
can't  you?  " 

"  Not  always,"  said  Mr.  Gilman  softly. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

FOR  the  next  two  or  three  days  there  was  an 
atmosphere  of  restraint  in  and  about  the  Oil- 
man home.  After  that  the  air  cleared  percep- 
tibly; not  only  was  Mr.  Oilman  quite  like  himself  once 
more,  but  the  behaviour  of  Miss  Corse  also  underwent  a 
marked  change.  On  the  rare  occasions  when  she  was 
unable  to  avoid  Redpath  in  the  hall,  her  manner  had 
been  distant  and  unfriendly.  There  were  times  when 
he  felt  certain  that  she  was  afraid  of  him.  And  then, 
quite  as  inexplicably,  her  manner  changed  and  she  be- 
came even  more  friendly  than  before.  She  went  out  of 
her  way  to  engage  in  somewhat  protracted  discussions 
with  him,  and  there  were  frequent  sly  little  confidences 
concerning  the  "  crankiness  "  of  the  old  woman  "  up 
there."  "  She  is  the  limit,"  confided  Miss  Corse,  and 
from  that  simple  expression  he  derived  what  he  consid- 
ered to  be  an  explanation  for  her  recent  conduct. 

Coincident  with  the  sudden  rise  in  spirits  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  Oilman  and  Miss  Corse  was  the  arrival  of  a 
telegram  from  Los  Angeles,  directed  to  Mrs.  Oilman ;  a 
circumstance  unknown  to  Redpath,  however,  and  there- 
fore of  no  value  in  the  formation  of  his  conclusions. 

The  affairs  of  all  the  persons  connected  with  this 
^narrative  settled  down  for  the  winter,  so  to  say.  The 
weeks  slipped  rapidly  by  in  a  more  or  less  desultory 
fashion ;  each  day  was  a  good  deal  like  the  other  and 
they  were  all  short.  The  nights  were  long,  and  for 
Sherry  Redpath,  tedious. 

290 


SHERRY  291 

He  was  an  active  person,  full  of  life  and  spirit,  and 
the  evenings  spent  with  Andrew  Oilman,  while  amazingly 
interesting  after  a  certain  fashion,  were  far  from  inspir- 
ing to  one  who  had  the  call  of  youth  in  his  blood. 
Moreover,  Mr.  Oilman  had  become  more  exacting  in  his 
demands.  He  begrudged  the  young  man  his  occasional 
"  night  out."  Sherry  did  not  complain.  He  appre- 
ciated the  other's  dread  of  the  long,  lonely  evenings,  and 
quite  as  much  through  pity  as  through  duty  he  allowed 
his  privileges  to  lapse.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  even- 
ings were  not  unprofitable.  Andrew  Oilman  was  a 
never-ending  source  of  help  and  inspiration.  The 
young  man  realized  that  he  was  absorbing  sound  princi- 
ples and  acquiring  a  fund  of  knowledge  that  would  one 
day  be  of  great  value  to  him. 

And  he  gave  to  Andrew  Oilman  much  that  was  of 
value  in  return.  He  had  new  ideas  to  exchange  for  old 
ones,  and  while  his  employer  did  not  readily  fall  in 
with  them,  because  habit  was  too  strong  to  be  overcome 
in  a  trice,  he  never  failed  to  consider  seriously,  and  not 
captiously,  the  suggestion  of  his  wide-awake,  occasion- 
ally visionary,  companion  in  these  nightly  discursions. 
Not  a  few  of  Redpath's  suggestions  resulted  in  actual 
performances,  and  in  such  cases  Mr.  Oilman  was  more 
pleased  than  he  cared  to  admit  when  they  turned  out  to 
be  advantageous,  not  only  to  himself  but  to  a  commun- 
ity he  no  longer  despised  so  heartily  as  in  the  days  gone 

by. 

Redpath  was  becoming  quite  a  novel  figure  in  town. 
He  was  doing  things. —  and  doing  them  with  old  Andy 
Gee's  money.  Men  who  had  looked  upon  him  with  sus- 
picion a  few  months  before,  now  admitted  that  "  maybe 


292  SHERRY 

there's  something  in  the  darned  scamp  after  all."  He 
was  not  content  to  be  merely  a  figure-head  collecting 
agent;  they  couldn't  understand  any  man  working  for 
Andrew  Oilman  and  still  possessing  a  mind  of  his  own, 
or  a  shred  of  independence.  How  he  managed  to 
wheedle  the  hard-fisted  old  skinflint  into  such  an  aston- 
ishing state  of  progressiveness,  was  the  question  that 
every  one  asked  and  no  one  answered. 

Old  Judge  Emmons  meant  every  word  of  it  when  he 
remarked,  while  watching  a  gang  of  men  tearing  down 
the  time-honoured  and  unsightly  wooden  awning  in 
front  of  Bolger's  meat-market,  that  he'd  be  "  switched 
if  he  wouldn't  vote  for  Andy  Gilman  for  mayor  if  he'd 
only  agree  to  run." 

Socially,  Sherry  was  being  noticed,  if  not  actually 
recognized.  The  women  were  more  afraid  of  each 
other  than  they  were  of  him.  They  were  cautious.  It 
was  one  thing  to  say  that  Sherry  Redpath  deserved  a 
whole  lot  of  credit  and  another  to  say  "  Oh,  you  must 
come,  Mr.  Redpath ;  we  want  you  so  much."  Feminine 
Farragut  was  saying  quite  openly,  however,  that  he  was 
a  terribly  good-looking  fellow, — "  you  wouldn't  believe 
it,  really,  if  you  could  have  seen  the  way  he  looked  last 
spring,"  and  so  on. 

And  when  he  finally  took  to  skating  on  the  ponds  in 
the  park  above  town, —  a  sport  in  which  he  excelled, — 
formidable  matrons  smiled  benignly  and  said  they 
hoped  "  to  goodness  it  would  last." 

It  came  to  pass,  later  on,  that  he  was  more  severely 
criticized  for  an  unbearable  aloofness  than  for  any- 
thing else  he  had  done.  He  skated  because  he  loved 
the  exercise, —  and  needed  it.  It  did  not  occur  to  him 


SHERRY  293 

that  he  should  have  offered  his  long,  graceful  body  for 
the  support  and  education  of  awkward  young  ladies  who 
struggled  with  the  rudiments :  this  wilful  neglect  was 
not  due  to  snobbishness.  Not  by  any  manner  of  means. 
He  was  acutely  afraid  of  being  snubbed  if  he  ventured 
farther  than  the  simple,  perfunctory  smile  of  recog- 
nition with  which  he  favoured  one  and  all  without  dis- 
tinction. 

Six  months  ago  these  girls  had  drawn  their  skirts 
aside  when  he  passed  them  in  the  streets.  He  was  not 
taking  any  chances  with  them  now.  He  knew  most  of 
the  older  girls ;  he  had  grown  up  with  them ;  he  had 
not  the  slightest  feeling  of  resentment  toward  them. 
They  had  been  quite  right  in  avoiding  them!  If  he  had 
had  a  sister  he  certainly  would  have  counselled  her  to 
steer  clear  of  a  fellow  like  Sherry  Redpath. 

Morna  O'Brien  came  one  afternoon  to  the  ponds. 
She  was  with  a  crowd  of  young  men  and  women  in  a 
huge  bob-sled.  They  were  going  on  after  the  skating  to 
a  house  in  the  country  for  supper  and  a  barn  dance. 

Redpath  had  removed  his  skates  and,  aglow  from  the 
healthy  exercise,  lingered  on  the  bank  watching  the 
antics  of  a  couple  of  beginners.  The  ponds  were 
crowded.  He  did  not  see  Morna  until  she  swept  by  him 
on  the  ice,  hand  in  hand  with  a  man  he  knew.  She 
flashed  a  smile  over  her  shoulder  and  called  out  a  merry 
"  Hello,  stranger,"  to  him. 

His  heart  throbbed  so  violently  for  a  moment  or  two 
that  he  could  feel  it  pounding  against  his  ear-drums. 
He  followed  her  with  fascinated,  hungry  eyes  as  she 
glided  through  the  maze  of  skaters.  Distance  and  the 
throng  that  darted  madly  over  the  surface  of  the  huge 


294.  SHERRY 

pond  failed  to  shut  her  out  of  his  vision.  She  flashed  by 
again,  and  again  she  smiled  at  him.  Her  cheeks  were 
glowing,  her  dark  eyes  dancing.  He  felt  suddenly  sick 
and  weak  with  longing. 

She  was  wearing  a  check  skirt  that  came  down  to 
her  shoe  tops,  a  dark  green  jacket  trimmed  with  fur 
and  a  close  velvet  turban  edged  with  the  same  brown 
material.  (He  credited  her  with  nothing  short  of 
sable.)  Something  brightly  scarlet  was  at  her  throat. 

Drunk  with  the  spell  of  her  he  watched  and  waited 
for  that  unfailing  smile  as  she  whizzed  past  —  thrice, 
four  times,  five, —  and  then  he  lost  count.  There  were 
a  dozen  girls  on  that  pond  who  skated  as  well  as  Morna, 
and  some  of  them  better,  but  you  could  not  have  con- 
vinced him  of  that.  He  could  hardly  believe  his  own 
eyes.  It  seemed  absolutely  incredible  that  any  girl 
could  skate  so  marvellously  well.  (You  must  remem- 
ber that  to  him,  sport  of  any  description  was  mascu- 
line. He  gave  it  a  sex.)  What  beastly  luck,  he  was 
wailing  inwardly.  If  he  had  waited  but  ten  minutes 
before  removing  his  skates  1  Or  if  fate  had  ordained 
that  she  should  appear  on  the  pond  fifteen  minutes 
earlier.  It  would  be  ridiculous  for  him  to  sit  down  now 
and  strap  on  his  skates.  And  even  if  he  had  been 
willing  to  make  an  ass  of  himself,  what  right  had  he  to 
expect  her  to  ignore  the  men  in  her  own  party  for  the 
sake  of  a  few  turns  about  the  pond  with  him?  Be- 
sides,—  he  remembered  with  a  shock  that  plunged  him 
further  into  gloom, —  he  was  even  now  due  at  Mr.  Gil- 
man's  to  go  over  the  afternoon's  mail  with  him.  He 
sighed  profoundly  and  turned  away  from  temptation. 

"  Hello,   Sherry,"   called   out  a  buoyant,   sprightly 


SHERRY  295 

voice.  A  young  fellow,  with  one  knee  on  the  ground, 
was  feverishly  adjusting  his  skates.  It  was  Jimmy 
Burton.  "  How's  the  ice?  " 

"  Great,"  replied  the  departing  one,  his  spirits  going 
clear  to  the  bottom  with  a  dizzy  rush. 

Jimmy  picked  his  way  awkwardly  to  the  ice,  and 
waited,  his  eager  gaze  sweeping  the  pond. 

"  Curse  the  luck ! "  muttered  Sherry,  and  strode  off, 
unwilling  to  witness  the  inevitable.  He  heard  Jimmy 
shout  a  brisk,  domineering  "  Next ! "  and  to  save  his 
soul  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  look  around. 

Young  Mr.  Burton  was  coolly  appropriating  Morna, 
edging  in  between  her  and  the  monopolist  who  had  had 
her  from  the  beginning, —  and  Morna  was  smiling  de- 
lightedly ! 

A  few  days  later  she  appeared  again  on  the  pond, 
coming  with  her  cousins.  He  was  ashamed  of  the  pre- 
tence that  he  did  not  see  her,  and  yet  he  was  doing  his 
cause  a  world  of  good  without  knowing  it.  She  was 
piqued.  In  his  ignorance  he  referred  to  himself  as  a 
sulky,  impolite  idiot.  A  different  sort  of  ignorance 
on  her  part  caused  her  to  wonder  what  on  earth  she 
could  have  done  to  offend  him ! 

He  could  not  understand  himself.  Here  was  he,  a 
grown-up  man,  behaving  like  a  silly  school-boy,  pur- 
posely avoiding  her,  acting  as  if  she  did  not  exist, —  it 
was  disgusting !  What  was  there  to  be  afraid  of  ?  She 
always  had  been  nice  to  him,  she  never  had  snubbed 
him,  she  —  Good  heavens,  it  couldn't  be  that  he  was 
bashful  ? 

For  three  days  he  had  been  trying  to  screw  up  the 
courage  to  telephone  out  and  ask  her  to  come  in  and 


296  SHERRY 

skate  with  him, —  while  the  ice  was  good!  Once  he 
went  so  far  as  to  take  down  the  receiver.  For  hours 
afterwards  he  thought  of  himself  as  a  spineless  thing 
unworthy  the  name  of  man.  When  the  operator 
droned  "  number,"  he  stammered :  "  Can  you  give  me 
the  correct  time,  please?  " 

He  went  home  that  day  too  without  having  had  a 
word  with  her.  Mr.  Gilman  was  a  little  crusty  that 
evening.  His  secretary  was  wool-gathering. 

He  studied  the  weather  reports  assiduously,  dreading 
a  sudden  rise  in  the  temperature  and  the  thaw  that 
would  put  an  end  to  the  skating  at  least  temporarily. 

February  was  half  gone  when  he  saw  an  "  item  "  in 
the  society  columns  of  the  Dispatch  that  rendered  the 
whole  day  bleak  for  him.  Mrs.  Compton  and  Miss 
O'Brien  were  leaving  on  the  twenty-third  for  a  six  weeks' 
stay  in  Florida.  This  was  the  sixteenth.  It  was  his 
day  for  making  the  perfunctory  "  reminder  "  visits  to 
delinquent  tenants. 

"Ain't  ye  feelin'  well,  sir?"  inquired  Mrs.  Cassidy, 
the  first  to  be  seen.  She  was  now  three  months  in 
arrears. 

"  Never  felt  better,"  he  assured  her,  and  gave  her 
his  customary  though  somewhat  belated  smile. 

"  Ah,  thin,  some  one  in  yer  family  is  sick,"  she  specu- 
lated, having  missed  her  first  guess.  "  I  hope  it's  noth- 
ing serious,  sir.  It's  hard  weather  for  — " 

"  You  will  try  to  pay  a  little  this  month,  won't  you, 
Mrs.  Cassidy?  "  he  broke  in,  impatient  for  the  first  time 
in  her  acquaintance  with  him.  Whereupon  she  told 
him  what  she  thought  of  Andrew  Gilman.  She  was  still 


SHERRY  297 

telling  him  when  he  turned  the  corner  into  the  next 
street  where  Jacob  Webber  lived. 

That  afternoon  Morna  put  her  pride  in  her  pocket 
and,  deserting  the  Bingham  girl  with  whom  she  was 
skating,  swooped  down  upon  him  from  an  advantageous 
angle. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  w  she  demanded,  an 
accusing  light  in  her  eyes.  "  Don't  you  ever  intend  to 
speak  to  me  again?  " 

He  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  "  Why, —  er, — 
there's  nothing  the  matter.  I'm  awfully  glad  to  see 
you.  I've  been  waiting  for  a  chance  to  talk  with  you 
for—" 

"  I  don't  believe  you  like  me  any  more,"  she  said. 

"  Don't  say  that.  Of  course,  I  do.  But  you  always 
seem  to  be  so  busy  —  er  —  don't  you  know.  A  poor, 
out-of-the-running  dub  like  me  hasn't  a  chance  to  get 
within  a  mile  of  you." 

"  We're  going  South  next  week,"  she  said,  a  trifle  ir- 
relevantly. 

"  I  saw  it  in  the  paper." 

"  You  haven't  been  very  friendly,  Mr.  Redpath. 
Granny  has  spoken  of  it  several  times.  Aren't  you  ever 
coming  out  to  see  us  again?  Or  does  Mr.  Gilman  ob- 
ject? He—" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  running  out  to  see  you  tomor- 
row," he  said,  which  was  quite  true,  for  he  was  always 
thinking  of  running  out  to  see  her  "  tomorrow." 

"You  might  have  asked  me  to  skate  with  you,"  she 
said,  a  little  crossly.  "  Or  perhaps  you  don't  think  I 
skate  well  enough.  Everybody  says  you  are  so  high 


298  SHERRY 

and  mighty  you  will  not  condescend  to  skate  with 
ordinary  mortals." 

"  Oh,  my  Lord,"  he  gasped,  genuinely  amazed. 

"  You  are  becoming  very  unpopular.  People  are 
saying  dreadful  things  about  you." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  he  said  bitterly,  misunderstand- 
ing her.  "  You  can't  expect  me  to  live  down  a  — " 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that,"  she  cried,  flushing  pain- 
fully. "  You  mustn't  think  that  any  more.  Nobody 
thinks  of  that  nowadays.  They  just  can't  understand 
why  you  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  them.  The 
girls,  I  mean." 

"  They  don't  seem  keen  about  having  anything  to  do 
with  me." 

"  You  are  getting  a  reputation  as  a  snob.  I've  heard 
a  dozen  girls  say  you  are  fearfully  stuck-up." 

"  Well,  I'm  not,"  he  exclaimed  wrathfully.  His  mind 
leaped  backward  and  released  a  thought.  "  Will  you 
skate  with  me  now?  " 

"  It's  about  time,"  she  said  pointedly,  and  placed  her 
hand  in  his. 

They  skated  in  silence.  He  was  too  happy  to  utter 
a  word.  The  tight  pressure  of  her  strong  little  hands 
in  his ;  the  delicious  nearness  of  her  lithe,  adorable  per- 
son ;  the  cool,  refreshing  perfume  that  filled  his  nostrils, 
—  he  was  in  paradise.  Rapture  was  his  at  last. 
After  all  the  weeks  of  longing,  and  doubt,  and  misery, 
he  was  happy  again, —  most  unexpectedly  so.  Some- 
thing was  telling  him  that  she  had  been  hurt  by  his 
indifference ;  he  was  amazingly  well  satisfied  with  the  im- 
pression that  she  had  mistaken  his  thundering  stupid- 


SHERRY  299 

ity  for  indifference !  There  was  a  whole  lot  of  glory 
to  be  got  out  of  that. 

"  You  ought  to  ask  some  of  the  girls  to  skate  with 
you,"  she  said  finally.  "  They  think  it's  awfully  queer 
that  you  don't." 

"  I  haven't  the  time  to  go  in  very  strong  for  that  sort 
of  thing,"  he  said,  assuming  a  loftiness  he  did  not  feel. 
"  I'm  in  business,  you  see,"  he  added,  with  an  apologetic 
grin. 

"  Time  is  very  precious,  I  suppose,"  she  observed, 
bitingly. 

"  More  precious  than  girls,"  he  replied.  "  I've  never 
been  much  of  a  hand  for  girls,  you  know." 

"  Your  own  experience  ought  to  prove  to  you  that 
it's  never  too  late  to  mend.  Unless  I  am  greatly  mis- 
taken you  were  not  much  of  a  hand  for  business  up  to  a 
very  few  months  ago." 

"  Are  you  proselyting  on  the  girl  question  ?  " 

"  I'm  trying  to  teach  you  good  manners.  You 
mustn't  follow  too  closely  in  Mr.  Oilman's  footsteps. 
You  will  be  a  dreadful  person  if  you  don't  watch  out." 

"  Thanks  for  the  tip.  I'll  do  better.  Are  you  com- 
ing out  tomorrow  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  it's  decent  weather.  I'm  coming  with 
Jimmy  Burton." 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  and  was  silent  for  a  long  time  after- 
ward. 

"  He's  terribly  amusing,  isn't  he  ?  "  she  said,  as  she 
leaned  lightly  against  him  at  the  turn. 

"Who?  "he  demanded. 

"  Jimmy  Burton." 


300  SHERRY 

"  Terribly,"  he  agreed.  "  By  the  way,  how  is  the 
feud  getting  along?  " 

"  There  isn't  any  feud  to  get  along,"  she  replied 
sweetly.  "  That  is,  so  far  as  Jimmy  and  I  are  con- 
cerned. We've  buried  the  hatchet." 

"  Was  Mrs.  Compton  present  at  the  ceremony  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  no.  The  burial  was  quite  private,  Mr. 
Redpath.  Granny  wouldn't  go  within  a.  mile  of  a  Bur- 
ton if  she  could  help  it." 

"  Still  keeping  her  in  the  dark,  I  see,"  he  said,  in- 
wardly raging. 

"  She  is  very  fond  of  Jimmy,"  replied  Morna,  radi- 
antly. "  Will  you  be  here  tomorrow  afternoon  ?  " 

"  To  see  you  skating  around  with  Jimmy  Burton  ?  I 
should  say  not." 

She  squeezed  his  arm  delightedly.  "  I  really  believe 
you're  jealous,"  she  cried,  but  in  such  a  gay,  sparkling 
manner  that  he  could  find  no  comfort  in  the  thrust. 

"  I  am,"  he  confessed  promptly. 

She  laughed  as  she  looked  up  into  his  face.  There 
was  something  in  his  grey  eyes  that  held  her  fascinated 
for  a  moment.  Then  she  suddenly  looked  away,  con- 
founded by  the  discovery  she  had  made.  He  saw  the 
blithe  smile  fade  slowly  from  her  half-averted  face,  and 
his  heart  sank.  Poor  fool!  He  had  betrayed  him- 
self, and  —  now  it  was  all  over ! 

"  Well,"  he  said  gently,  after  a  long  interval  and  as 
if  he  were  completing  a  provisional  statement  of  his 
case,  "  you  might  just  as  well  know  it  now  as  later  on. 
Much  better  for  me  too.  Don't  think  anything  more 
about  it.  I'm  only  one  of  a  multitude  and  I  guess  I  can 
stand  it  as  well  as  the  rest  of  them.  I'd  just  like 


SHERRY  301 

you  to  feel,  however,  that  the  very  best  that's  in  me 
goes  out  to  you.  You  are  wonderful,  Morna.  I  shall 
always  be  grateful  to  you.  I  —  Well,  you've  given 
me  something  that  I  wouldn't  part  with  for  all  the 
world.  Now,  don't  be  the  least  bit  unhappy  on  my 
account.  I've  never  had  a  ray  of  hope,  you  know,  so 
there's  really  nothing  to  feel  badly  about.  It's  all  a 
part  of  the  great  game  we  have  to  play,  and  a  good 
loser  never  squeals."  He  drew  a  long,  deep  breath. 
The  familiar,  quizzical  smile  crept  into  his  face  and  he 
fell  into  the  pleasantly  satirical  way  of  drawling  his 
words :  M  I  called  you  Morna  a  moment  ago.  I've  said 
it  a  thousand  times  to  myself.  It's  like  a  caress. 
Hope  you  didn't  mind." 

She  smiled  faintly.  There  was  a  slight  quaver  in  her 
voice,  as  of  suppressed  excitement,  when  she  responded. 

"  I  like  you  to  call  me  Morna.  As  you  say,  it  does 
sound  like  a  caress."  She  looked  up  at  him  out  of  the 
corner  of  her  eye,  a  swift,  searching  little  glance  that 
he  missed,  being  studiously  intent  on  the  landscape 
straight  ahead.  Then  suddenly :  "  Come  on !  Let's 
sprint  awhile.  As  fast  as  we  can  go !  " 

There  was  a  vibrant  note  in  her  voice.  He  went  very 
red  in  the  face ;  a  queer  glaze  came  over  his  eyes.  She 
was  laughing  at  him!  But  then  he  had  made  a  silly 
fool  of  himself  * — so,  why  shouldn't  she  laugh  at  him? 
Some  one  ought  to  kick  him  all  the  way  home  and 
back  for  presuming  to  — 

"  Come  on,"  she  cried  impatiently.     "  Top  speed !  " 

They  circled  the  pond  three  times  at  a  furious  pace. 
Other  skaters  made  way  for  them,  some  cheerfully,  oth- 
ers grudgingly.  When  at  last  she  gav«  the  signal  to 


302  SHERRY 

slow  down,  she  was  panting  and  out  of  breath,  but  her 
eyes  were  starry  bright  and  smiling. 

"  Wasn't  it  great  ?  "  she  gasped,  leaning  on  his  arm 
as  they  swerved  in  toward  the  crowded  centre  of  the 
pond. 

"  I  never  knew  it  was  in  a  girl  to  skate  like  that,"  he 
replied,  wonderingly.  "  You  are  a  wonder." 

"  I've  skated  at  San  Moritz  with  some  of  the  best 
skaters  in  the  world,"  she  said  simply,  unaffectedly. 

"  I  hope  I  didn't  tire  you,"  he  apologized.  "  You 
see  I've  skated  only  with  men.  I'm  not  used  to  girls. 
Maybe  I  hit  it  up  too  — " 

"  I  wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  the  world,"  cried 
Morna.  "  I  loved  every  second  of  it."  Her  breast  was 
heaving,  her  red  lips  were  parted  in  an  ecstasy  of 
fatigue,  her  cheeks  glowed  warm  and  rich  from  the 
whipping  of  the  chill  February  wind.  Her  voice  was 
low  and  husky,  and  trembled  slightly. 

"  And  you  will  not  let  what  I  said  a  little  while  ago 
make  any  difference  in  our  friendship?  "  he  said,  un- 
easily. 

She  laughed  outright  at  that,  a  gay,  excited  little 
gurgle  that  consoled  him  strangely.  He  hadn't  blun- 
dered irretrievably,  and  that  was  something  to  be  thank- 
ful for. 

"You  might  just  as  well  ask  me  to  be  a  sister  to 
you,"  she  said,  still  laughing. 

"  Good  Lord !  Do  you  mean  that  we  can't  go  on  as 
we  were  before  I  made  that  awful  break  about  — " 

"  We  can  never  be  the  same,  I'm  afraid." 

He  was  aghast.     "I  —  I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I 


SHERRY  303 

am,  Miss  O'Brien.  Won't  you  forget  that  I  said  it? 
Your  friendship  means  more  to  me  than  — " 

"  Didn't  you  mean  it?  "  she  demanded,  severely.  To 
herself  she  was  saying  that  she  was  having  the  time  of 
her  life ! 

"  Of  course  I  meant  it,"  he  stammered. 

"  Then  what  kind  of  a  girl  would  you  take  me  to  be 
if  I  even  pretended  to  forget  it?  " 

"  Well,  I  didn't  mean  to  put  it  in  just  that  way.  I 
should  have  asked  you  to  overlook  my  impertinence. 
That's  it,"  he  cried ;  "  my  confounded  impertinence." 

"  Since  you  put  it  in  that  way,"  she  said  demurely, 
"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  give  you  another  chance." 

"  You  will  ?  "  he  cried,  relieved.  "  That's  fine  of  you. 
Bully!" 

"  But,  I  warn  you,  don't  ever  do  it  again  unless  you 
are  prepared  to  take  the  consequences." 

He  swallowed  hard.  She  looked  up  into  his  face  and 
her  heart  smote  her.  He  was  quite  pale. 

"  I'll  —  I'll  be  as  mum  as  an  oyster,"  he  said  reso- 
lutely- 

She  appeared  to  reflect.  "  On  second  thoughts,"  she 
said  slowly,  "  I  don't  believe  I'd  better  risk  giving  you 
another  chance." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,"  he  groaned  miserably. 

'*  I  should  hate  to  be  disappointed,  you  know.  You 
must  promise  not  to  disappoint  me, —  Sherry." 

"  I  promise,  Morna,"  he  said  humbly. 

"  You  old  dear,"  she  whispered,  squeezing  his  arm 
tightly.  He  looked  down  into  her  shining  eyes  and 
caught  his  breath  sharply. 


304  SHERRY 

"  God,"  he  muttered  huskily,  "  it's  not  going  to  be 
easy." 

"  I'll  do  my  best  to  help  you,"  she  said  quaintly. 
"  So,  do  cheer  up." 

A  hand  was  laid  heavily  on  Sherry's  shoulder  and  a 
hearty  voice  from  behind  cried  out : 

"  Break  away,  old  man.  See  who's  here.  Little  old 
me.  My  turn,  Morna.  Clear  out,  Sherry." 

Jimmy  Burton  thrust  himself  in  between  them  and  a 
second  later  skated  blithely  away  with  Morna.  Things 
went  red  before  Sherry's  eyes.  For  a  moment  he  skated 
blindly  in  their  wake,  hearing  their  gay  laughter  but 
seeing  them  only  as  a  confused,  mobile  mass.  Then  he 
turned  and  darted  back  toward  the  benches.  He  missed 
the  queer  look  of  dismay  that  she  shot  over  her  shoulder, 
and  the  momentary  gleam  of  pain  and  contrition  that 
filled  her  dark  eyes. 

He  was  saying  to  himself  as  he  trudged  furiously 
down  the  hill,  homeward  bound :  "  But  if  I  had 
punched  his  nose  for  him  she  would  never  have  forgiven 
me,  so  what's  the  use  thinking  about  it,  you  darned  fool. 
She's  in  love  with  him  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  Prohibition  Party  invited  him  to  go  on  its 
ticket  in  the  spring  elections.  He  was  asked 
to  "  run  "  for  councilman  in  the  Sixth  Ward. 
At  the  same  time  the  Blue  Ribbon  Society  formally  re- 
quested him  to  address  a  big  meeting  in  Alexander's 
Hall  on  the  25th  of  May.  The  committee, —  which  in- 
cluded, besides  ladies,  a  number  of  bland  gentlemen  who 
had  taken  the  pledge  never  to  touch  intoxicating  liquor 
(some  of  them  were  proud  of  the  fact  that  they  had 
taken  the  pledge  more  than  once,  and  would  go  on 
doing  so  indefinitely  if  necessary  to  overthrow  the 
power  of  Demon  Rum), —  suggested  a  topic  for  the 
address  they  expected  him  to  deliver :  "  The  First  Drink 
and  the  Last." 

He  declined  both  invitations.  The  Prohibitionists 
were  shocked  when  he  laconically  reminded  them  that  it 
was  no  good  running  for  a  local  office  unless  you  were 
prepared  to  buy  drinks  for  half  the  voters  in  the  ward, 
and,  besides  that,  you  couldn't  expect  them  to  vote  for 
you  if  you  considered  yourself  too  good  to  drink  with 
'em.  Moreover,  being  a  Republican,  he  couldn't  even 
vote  for  himself,  and  that  ought  to  be  reason  enough 
why  he  shouldn't  run  on  the  Prohibition  ticket. 

"  But  you  are  the  logical  candidate,"  they  insisted. 
"  You've  stopped  drinking.  You've  made  a  man  of 

yourself.     You  are  a  credit  to  the  ward.     You  are  at 

305 


306  SHERRY 

this  moment  one  of  the  most  popular,  deserving  young 
men  in  the  city.  Every  one  is  talking  of  your 
manly  — " 

"  But  all  of  these  can't  make  a  politician  of  me,"  he 
said  amiably. 

"  You  don't  have  to  be  a  politician  to  run  on  the 
Prohibition  ticket." 

"  You  have  to  be  a  politician  if  you  want  to  be 
elected,  however." 

"  Oh,  we  don't  for  a  minute  believe  there  is  a  chance 
of  your  being  elected.  That  isn't  the  point." 

"  Just  what  is  the  point  ?  " 

"  We  are  blazing  the  way.     Some  day  — " 

"  Why  don't  one  of  you  gentlemen  run  for  the  office? 
You  don't  drink,  and  you  are  quite  respectable.  Why 
wish  it  on  me?  " 

"  To  be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  we've  been  fight- 
ing the  liquor  interests  so  long  that  there  isn't  a  chance 
of  our  getting  a  single  vote  out  of  the  saloons,  and  that 
is  important,  you  know.  Now  you  are  fresh  from  asso- 
ciation with  the  very  people  we  want  to  reach  more 
than—" 

"  Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,  is  that  the  idea?  " 

"  Well,  that's  hardly  the  way  to  put  it,"  very  be- 
nignly, deprecatingly. 

Sherry  set  his  jaws  suddenly  and  the  amused  smile 
went  out  of  his  eyes. 

"  Gentlemen,  the  saloon  interests  in  this  town, —  or 
in  any  other,  for  that  matter, —  may  not  hesitate  to 
make  a  drunkard  of  a  man,  but  I've  never  heard  of  them 
trying  to  make  him  ridiculous.  I  will  say  that  much 
for  the  liquor  dealers,  and  that's  more  than  I  can  say 


SHERRY  SOT 

for  you.  You  would  make  me  the  laughing-stock  of  the 
town.  For  five  years  I  drank  like  a  fish  and  you  gen- 
tlemen held  me  up  to  public  view  as  the  horrible  ex- 
ample by  which  all  comparisons  were  to  be  made.  I've 
been  sober  for  a  matter  of  six  months,  and  you  want 
me  to  run  for  councilman  on  the  Prohibition  ticket. 
How  in  hell,  gentlemen,  do  you  know  that  I'm  going  to 
stay  sober  for  the  next  six  months?  How  does  anybody 
know?  Six  months  on  the  water-wagon  makes  me  the 
logical  candidate,  does  it?  Six  months  dry  and  five 
years  wet,  that's  my  record.  If  you  think  that  I  take 
your  proposition  as  a  compliment,  you  are  very  much 
mistaken.  I  take  it  as  a  joke, —  and  we'll  let  it  go  at 
that.  Permit  me  to  recommend  a  candidate  far  better 
supplied  than  I  with  all  of  the  qualifications  you  men- 
tion. I  refer  to  Patsy  Burke,  the  bartender  at  the 
Sunbeam  saloon.  He  hasn't  touched  a  drop  in  ten 
years,  he  is  absolutely  honest  and  reliable,  he  provides 
for  his  family,  he  is  popular  with  the  element  that 
frequents  the  saloons,  and,  gentlemen,  he  is  a  resident 
and  tax-payer  in  this  ward.  He  is  your  ideal  candi- 
date." 

The  Blue  Ribboners  came  a  little  later  on  and  told 
him  that  as  a  "  reformed  drunkard  "  he  could  set  the 
town  afire  with  his  "  experiences." 

"  We  will  bill  you  as  the  one  big  drawing  card  of  the 
convention,  Mr.  Redpath,  and  you  will  fill  the  hall  to 
its  utmost  capacity.  We'll  guarantee  that.  Every 
one  will  be  crazy  to  hear  you  talk  about  the  evil  days 
you  — " 

"  I  remember,  Mr.  Edmonds,  the  last  time  I  ever  saw 
you  spifflicated,"  broke  in  Sherry,  with  his  most  genial, 


308  SHERRY 

friendly  smile.  "  You  certainly  had  me  guessing. 
Patsy  Burke  said  you  were  alive,  but,  by  George,  I 
didn't  think  so.  Remember  that  time?  In  the  alley 
back  of  the  Sunbeam  about  a  year  and  a  half  ago  ?  " 

Mr.  Edmonds  drew  himself  up.  There  were  ladies 
present.  He  got  quite  red  in  the  face. 

"  No,  I  do  not  remember  any  such  occasion,"  he  said, 
ponderously. 

"  Perhaps  not.  I'm  not  surprised.  You  were 
loaded  to  the  ears.  Maybe  it  wasn't  the  last  time, 
either.  Doubtless  I  saw  you  once  or  twice  after  — " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  bringing  up  such  things,  sir?  " 
roared  Mr.  Edmonds.  "  I  consider  it  extremely  bad 
taste  to  — " 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Sherry,  humbly.  "  I  didn't 
dream  you  would  be  offended.  I  thought  you'd  rather 
like  to  talk  about  those  good  old  evil  days.  Believe  me, 
sir,  I  hadn't  the  faintest  idea  that  those  jags  of  yours 
were  private.  Excuse  me  if  I've  betrayed  a  secret." 

"  I  am  not  proud  of  them,"  snapped  the  red-faced 
Mr.  Edmonds,  "  and  I  never  speak  of  them.  We  came 
here  in  good  faith  to  ask  you  to  speak  at  our  convention 
and  you  have  the  effrontery  to  refer  to  a  part  of  my 
life  that  is  a  closed  book,  Mr.  Redpath.  If  you  think 
you  are  making  a  hit  with  me  by  parading  my  — " 

"  Don't  lose  your  temper,"  admonished  Sherry,  shak- 
ing his  finger  at  Mr.  Edmonds  playfully.  "  I  didn't 
lose  mine  when  you  invited  me  to  get  up  in  front  of  a 
crowd  and  tell  'em  about  my  sessions  with  old  Mr. 
Booze.  I  am  beginning  to  feel,  Mr.  Edmonds,  that  you 
are  entirely  too  modest.  You  could  get  your  name  in 
large  type  on  the  bills  if  you'd  only  put  your  modesty 


SHERRY  309 

aside  and  volunteer  to  tell  the  multitudes  how  it  feels  to 
be  so  drunk  that  you  don't  know  it.  I  am  an  amateur 
compared  to  you,  sir.  I've  never  been  so  full  that  the 
police  had  to  slap  the  soles  of  my  shoes  with  a  night- 
stick in  order  to  get  a  grunt  out  of  me,  and  I've  never 
had  the  pleasure  of  sleeping  all  night  in  an  alley.  I'm 
not  the  man  you  want,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  I  am  a 
piker.  Mr.  Edmonds  here  is  the  logical  head-liner  for 
your —  Well,  good-bye,  Mr.  Edmonds.  I  don't 
blame  you  for  feeling  embarrassed.  Fulsome  praise  al- 
ways embarrasses  me  too.  But  I  must  say,  before  you 
get  entirely  out  of  ear-shot,  that  Patsy  Burke  would 
consider  it  a  personal  favour  if  you'd  drop  in  at  the 
Sunbeam  some  day  and  pay  him  the  ninety  dollars 
you've  owed  the  bar  for  drinks  since  nineteen-four." 

These  profound  indications  of  the  new  esteem  in  which 
he  was  held  by  an  astonished  citizenry  amused  rather 
than  gratified  him.  He  had  many  a  laugh  over  the 
incidents  with  Mr.  Gilman  and  Barney  Doyle,  and  once 
when  he  met  Patsy  Burke  on  his  way  home  from  church 
with  the  "  old  lady." 

But  there  did  come  a  proposition  which  interested  and 
pleased  him  more  than  mere  words  can  describe.  It  was 
on  the  day  of  the  departure  of  Mrs.  Compton  and 
Morna.  He  had  gone  to  the  station  to  see  them  off. 
The  through  train  which  carried  them  away  deposited 
on  the  front  door-step  of  the  city  (it  isn't  hyperbole  to 
call  the  platform  of  the  Union  depot  a  front  door-step), 
a  distinguished  and  august  visitor,  to  whom  at  least 
two  "  sticks  "  were  devoted  in  each  of  the  evening  papers 
(involving  the  hurried  and  agitated  unlocking  of  the 
forms  just  as  they  were  ready  to  go  to  press),  and  a 


310  SHERRY 

solid  two  column  interview  in  the  Dispatch  of  the  morn- 
ing after. 

Double-leaded  type  informed  the  people  of  Farragut 
that  the  Hon.  James  W.  Hazelton  was  in  their  midst  for 
a  day  or  two  only,  on  business  connected  with  the  Inter- 
urban  Traction  Company,  and  that  important  exten- 
sions and  improvements  of  the  system  were  being  con- 
templated by  the  Eastern  syndicate  controlling  the 
property. 

The  Honourable  James  was  not  a  stranger  in  Far- 
ragut.  He  had  spent  forty  years  of  his  life  in  the 
town,  his  wife  was  a  first  cousin  of  Sherry  Redpath's 
mother,  and  his  two  daughters  were  graduates  of  the 
Farragut  high-school.  It  was  no  good  telling  people 
in  Farragut  that  Jim  Hazelton  was  not  a  Farragut 
man,  and  always  would  be,  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  he  had  been  a  resident  of  New  York  City  for  the 
past  twenty-five  years,  or  that  his  wife  hadn't  been 
"  home  "  since  the  time  of  the  World's  Fair  in  Chicago, 
or  that  his  daughters  had  been  happily  married  to  and 
happily  divorced  from  men  whose  geographical  informa- 
tion was  limited  to  a  conviction  that  there  wasn't  much 
of  anything  west  of  the  Atlantic  seaboard  except  con- 
gressmen —  and  ranches  that  supplied  New  York  with 
food.  Jim  Hazelton  was  a  Farragut  man,  and  his 
wife  and  daughters  were  Farragut  girls.  (You  or  I 
would  say  women,  but  we  don't  count.) 

He  was  the  president  of  the  Traction  Company, 
chairman  of  the  board  of  directors  of  a  big  National 
bank,  a  director  in  two  railroads,  receiver  for  a  third, 
and  was  on  speaking  terms  with  J.  Pierpont  Morgan. 

On  the  occasion  of  his  rare  visits  to  Farragut,  he 


SHERRY  311 

created  a  profound  sensation  among  his  old  acquaint- 
ances by  speaking  of  the  various  Astors  and  Vander- 
bilts  by  their  first  names,  and  once  (evidently  letting  it 
slip  out  involuntarily)  he  spoke  of  Mr.  Choate  as  Joe. 
Mr.  James  Hazelton  was  that  kind  of  a  man,  so  now  you  ^i  , 
know  him  perfectly.  He  talked  of  millions,  abused  the 
administration  at  Washington,  drank  malted  milk, 
owned  a  Gainsborough  and  a  Romney,  consulted  a 
specialist  every  time  he  had  an  ache,  insisted  that  the 
country  was  going  to  the  devil,  knew  an  actress  or  two, 
read  the  Saturday  Evening  Post,  and  was,  as  you  may 
readily  see,  and  out-and-out  capitalist. 

But  why  go  on  ?     He  is  with  us  for  such  a  very  short1* 
time  that  it  seems  wicked  to  waste  space  on  him.     His 
stay  is  brief.     He  got  into  this  story  at  two-forty-five") 
on  the  afternoon  of  a  certain  day  and  goes  out  of  it  - 
for  ever  at  eleven-ten  on  the  sext.     And  as  he  has  noth- 
ing whatever  to  do  with  it  except  to  shake  hands  with    ^  • 
Sherry  Redpath  and  ask  him  how  his  mother  was,  we 
leave  him  to  the  daily  press  and  pass  on  to  the  next 
day  but  one  after  his  memorable  visit  to  Farragut. 

But  while  he  was  in  town  he  found  the  time  to  ex- 
press his  amazement  over  the  present  appearance  and 
condition  of  his  distant  relative,  Sherry  Redpath.  The 
last  time  he  was  West,  that  young  man  was  a  sight  to 
behold !  He  remembered  that  very  clearly. 

Now  he  was  perplexed.  He  couldn't  believe  his  eyes. 
So  he  forgot  his  own  affairs  for  a  moment  and  inquired 
who  the  deuce,  or  what,  was  responsible  for  the  miracle. 
Whereupon  the  general  manager  of  the  lines,  and  the 
local  superintendent,  and  the  city  engineer,  and  the 
entire  committee  from  the  Common  Council  took  up  a 


312  SHERRY 

good  deal  more  of  his  time  telling  him  about  the  remark- 
able regeneration  of  Sheridan  Redpath. 

The  next  day  but  one  the  general  manager  of  the 
system  hailed  Redpath  from  his  automobile  as  the  young 
man  was  walking  briskly  down  Main  Street. 

"  I  say,  Redpath!  Look  here  a  moment,  will  you?  " 
The  chauffeur  not  only  stopped  the  car  but  backed  up 
a  few  yards  along  the  curb.  "  Any  time  you  want  to 
cut  loose  from  old  Andy  Gee  and  tackle  a  job  that  will 
get  you  somewhere,  let  me  know.  I've  had  my  eye  on 
you  for  some  time.  You've  got  the  right  stuff  in  you 
and  it's  a  pity  to  waste  it  as  you're  doing  now.  You'll 
shrivel  and  dry  up  as  every  one  else  does  in  this  burg 
if  you  stick  around  here  too  long.  Right  now  is  the 
time  for  a  young  fellow  like  you  to  get  in  on  the  ground 
floor  with  one  of  our  systems.  Just  say  the  word,  and 
I'll  give  you  a  job  that's  bound  to  lead  up  to  better 
things  if  you  put  your  heart  in  it." 

"  That's  fine,  Mr.  McGuire,  but  I'm  under  contract 
with  Mr.  Gilman  for  a  certain  period.  I  can't  consider 
anything  else  at  present.  Thanks,  just  the  same." 

"  When  does  your  contract  expire?  " 

"  I  have  to  give  him  a  year's  notice." 

"  A  year?  Good  God,  man,  are  you  crazy?  That's 
the  most  idiotic  — " 

"  Don't  forget,  please,  that  I  wasn't  in  the  position  to 
decline  his  good  offices  as  I  am  yours,  Mr.  McGuire," 
said  Sherry  quietly. 

Mr.  McGuire  stared  for  a  moment.  Then  he  smiled. 
"  I  understand.  Well,  I  just  thought  I'd  put  a  bug 
in  your  ear.  I'm  interested  in  you,  Redpath,  and  I 
want  to  see  you  get  along.  You've  surprised  the  old 


SHERRY  313 

fogies  around  here,  and  I  don't  mind  saying  you've  sur- 
prised me.  But  this  isn't  the  place  for  }7ou.  You  want 
to  get  out  before  it's  too  late.  We're  at  the  back  of  a 
new  line  from  Chicago  to  —  well,  I  guess  I'd  better  not 
say  where.  There's  a  good  job  for  you  with  the  syndi- 
cate if  you  want  to  grab  it.  You  would  go  to  Chicago 
for  awhile  and  later  on  to  New  York." 

"  I  don't  believe  I'd  like  office  work.  I'm  too  strong 
for  that." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  office  work.  We'd  start  you  in  as 
assistant  superintendent  of  construction.  I  guess  that 
would  keep  you  out  in  the  open  a  bit,  wouldn't  it?  If 
you  make  good,  the  next  step  would  be  into  a  five 
thousand  dollar  job.  What  are  you  getting  now,  if 
I  may  ask?  About  fifty  a  month?  " 

"  Considerably  more  than  that,  Mr.  McGuire." 

"  More  than  that  out  of  old  man  Gilman  ?  Well,  you 
are  a  wonder,  that's  all  I've  got  to  say.  Nobody  ever 
did  that  to  him  before,  believe  me.  Think  the  matter 
over,  anyhow,  and  if  you  put  it  up  to  the  old  man  in  the 
right  way,  showing  him  the  advantages  you'll  have,  he 
may  release  you  from  the  contract." 

"  I  am  sure  he  would.  He's  a  very  fair  man.  On 
the  other  hand,  that's  what  I  profess  to  be.  I'll  dis- 
cuss it  with  him,  however.  I  am  sure  he  will  be  inter- 
ested." 

"  We  could  start  you  off  at  twenty-five  hundred  a 
year,"  offered  McGuire,  magnificently,  and,  waving  his 
hand  in  a  friendly  fashion,  drove  off. 

This  conversation  set  Sherry  to  thinking.  He  had 
known  for  many  weeks  that  he  was  not  engaged  in  a 
real  man's  work.  The  amazing  agreement  with  Mr. 


314.  SHERRY 

Gilman,  while  it  provided  inducements  for  a  man  with 
no  fire  or  ambition  in  his  make-up,  offered  little  or  no 
satisfaction  to  one  whose  aspirations  carried  him  be- 
yond the  mere  thought  of  earning  easy  money. 

He  decided  to  lay  this  new  proposition  before  his 
employer,  not  with  the  thought  of  actually  terminating 
his  contract  with  him,  but  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  the 
exact  nature  of  his  present  occupation.  There  was  a 
deep  and  secret  significance  behind  the  far  from  busi- 
ness-like arrangement  that  the  hard-fisted,  sensible, 
old  man  had  made  with  him  in  order  to  secure  his 
services  for  a  term  of  years  that  might  reasonably  in- 
clude his  dying  day.  He  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  ask  Mr.  Gilman  for  a  plain  statement  of  the  facts. 
His  own  good  sense  told  him  that  no  man  could  give  an 
adequate  return  for  the  amazing  wages  that  were  pro- 
vided for  in  their  agreement.  He  was  not  worthy  of  his 
hire,  and  never  could  be.  It  was  only  fair  to  offer  to 
release  Mr.  Gilman  from  his  bargain. 

Mr.  Gilman  listened  to  him  without  the  slightest  sign 
of  annoyance  or  concern.  When  Redpath  closed  his 
crisp  resume  of  the  situation  with  the  flat  statement 
that  he  did  not  believe  it  was  fair  and  honest  for  him  to 
accept  the  pay  that  was  promised  him  as  the  years  in- 
creased, and  offered  to  tear  up  the  contract  at  any 
time,  the  old  gentleman  said  wearily: 

"  I  know  how  you  must  feel,  my  boy.  It  is  not  an 
elevating  occupation.  Your  pride  revolts  against 
taking  money  that  cannot  possibly  be  earned.  I  can  see 
how  attractive  this  proposition  from  Mr.  McGuire  ap- 
pears to  you.  If  it  were  left  to  me  to  decide  for  you, 
I  should  unhesitatingly  advise  you  to  accept.  But  you 


SHERRY  315 

are  under  contract  to  me.  I  cannot  see  my  way  clear  to 
release  you  at  present.  As  for  the  rather  direct  and 
sensible  question  you  put  to  me,  I  can  only  say  that 
your  actual  duties  here  are  plain.  You  are  taking  care 
of  them  admirably.  If  I  have  a  secret  motive  for  keep- 
ing you  with  me,  and  am  willing  to  pay  you  the  stag- 
gering wages  you  speak  of  so  dubiously,  it  is  solely  my 
own  affair.  I  cannot  tell  you  now  what  your  unknown 
duties  here  are  and  I  pray  God  that  they  may  never 
be  disclosed  to  you.  You  are  not,  I  perceive,  disposed 
to  get  rich  quickly  and  easily,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  that 
spirit  in  you.  Most  men  would  jump  at  the  chance 
you  have  had  thrust  upon  you.  It  is  not  fair  of  me 
to  hold  you  to  your  bargain.  I  have  become  very  fond 
of  you,  and  proud  as  well.  You  have  better  stuff  in 
you  than  even  I  suspected,  and  I  am  a  pretty  good 
judge  of  men.  Now,  suppose  we  leave  it  this  way :  stay 
on  with  me  for  a  year  or  two.  If  at  the  end  of  that 
time  you  feel  inclined  to  cancel  pur  contract,  I  shall  not 
oppose  you.  But,  I  beg  of  you,  do  not  leave  me  now." 

There  was  a  genuine  appeal  in  Mr.  Oilman's  voice. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  earnestness  of  his  manner. 
Sherry  was  filled  with  compunction. 

"  That  settles  it,  sir.  I  see  how  you  feel  about  it.  I 
will  stick  to  my  part  of  the  bargain  as  long  as  you  are 
satisfied.  You  have  been  my  best  friend.  I  hope  you 
may  never  be  in  a  position  to  doubt  my  friendship  for 
you.  I'll  stick  as  long  as  you  like, —  whether  I'm 
worth  it  to  you  or  not." 

That  night  he  was  awakened  by  the  sound  of  some 
one  moving  about  in  his  room.  He  knew  who  it  was. 
It  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  been  aroused  from  a 


316  SHERRY 

sound  sleep  to  find  Andrew  Gilman  shuffling  across  the 
floor,  feeling  his  way  in  the  darkness.  Once  a  heavy 
sleeper,  he  now  slept  lightly,  awaking  at  the  slightest 
sound.  He  always  called  out: 

"  Anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Mr.  Gilman?  " 

And  Andrew  Gilman,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  in- 
variably answered :  "  Nothing, —  nothing  at  all." 

He  observed  a  subtle  change  in  Mr.  Gilman's  physical 
appearance  as  the  winter  progressed  toward  spring.  A 
new  and  increasing  haggardness  deepened  in  his  face ; 
his  eyes  appeared  to  have  sunk  farther  into  their  sockets 
and  to  burn  with  a  strange  brightness.  There  were 
times  when  they  seemed  to  penetrate  to  the  innermost 
recesses  of  his  brain,  pathetic  in  their  intensity,  search- 
ing always  for  something  that  eluded  him.  There  was 
an  odd  expression,  as  of  fear  or  apprehension,  in  them 
too.  His  shoulders  sagged  and  he  moved  slowly,  as  if 
tired  and  dispirited.  The  sharp,  incisive,  direct  tone 
was  missing  from  his  speech ;  his  voice  had  dropped  to  a 
dull,  sometimes  droning  monotone. 

Redpath  spoke  to  Miss  Corse  about  it  one  day.  He 
was  really  distressed  by  these  signs  of  breaking  health. 

"  He's  old  enough  to  crack,"  said  Miss  Corse,  unfeel- 
ingly,—  and,  as  she  thought,  professionally.  "  Can't 
expect  him  to  go  on  being  zippy  for  ever,  Mr.  Redpath. 
He's  way  over  seventy." 

"  But  why  does  he  have  that  queer  look  in  his  eyes,  as 
if  he  were  horribly  afraid  of  something?  " 

"  Umph !  He's  afraid  of  death,  that's  what  he  is. 
They  all  hate  to  think  of  dying.  You  see,  when  they 
get  to  be  seventy-four  or  five,  they  begin  counting  the 
years  that  are  left.  First  they  say  five  years,  then 


SHERRY  317 

four,  then  three  —  and  so  on.  They  usually  give  them- 
selves eighty  years  at  the  outside.  Well,  every  little 
month  counts  a  lot  when  you're  getting  ready  to  shake 
hands  with  Death.  He's  afraid  he'll  die  before  that 
old  woman  up  there,  that's  what's  eating  him.  And 
she's  afraid  she'll  die  before  he  does.  I  never  knew  any- 
thing like  it." 

"  I've  got  a  notion  in  my  head  there's  something  go- 
ing on  that  we  don't  know  anything  about,"  said  he, 
frowning. 

She  winced.  "  What  do  you  think  it  is?  "  she  asked, 
after  a  moment. 

Struck  by  her  tone,  he  shot  a  quick  look  at  her  face. 
He  was  startled  by  what  he  saw.  The  colour  had 
faded  from  her  cheeks,  leaving  them  a  sickly  white; 
her  eyes  were  half-closed  and  her  lips  twitched  nerv- 
ously. Almost  instantly  she  regained  control  of  her 
shaken  nerves  and  smiled, —  a  forced,  unnatural  smile 
that  somehow  horrified  him.  It  was  just  the  stretching 
of  thin,  pale  lips,  as  if  in  agony.  He  had  heard  lawyers 
in  a  murder  case  refer  to  the  "  sardonic  grin."  or  risis 
sardonicus,  that  appears  on  the  lips  of  one  who  has  died 
of  strychnine  poisoning.  Like  a  shot  his  own  picture  of 
the  "  sardonic  grin  "  flashed  through  his  brain. 

"  It's  something  that  you  know  a  good  deal  about, 
Miss  Corse,"  he  said  quickly. 

"  I  don't  know  anything,"  she  said,  and  cleared  her 
throat  of  a  certain  huskiness.  "  That's  what  scares 
me.  It's  getting  on  my  nerves.  I  don't  sleep  nights, 
puzzling  my  brain  over  it.  It's  awful  the  way  they 
live,  those  two.  I  didn't  mind  much  at  first,  but  lately 
I'm  all  on  edge.  They  hate  each  other  so  horribly." 


318  SHERRY 

"  Do  they  see  anything  of  each  other  nowadays  ? 
They  seemed  to  be  patching  things  up  a  little  while 
ago." 

"  He  has  tried  to  see  her  a  couple  of  times  lately,  but 
she  won't  have  it.  I  wish  to  God  she'd  die." 

"  Great  Scot,  Miss  Corse !  Don't  say  a  thing  like 
that." 

"  Well,  I  know  it's  terrible,  but  I  can't  help  it.  She's 
the  whole  trouble  here,  Mr.  Redpath.  I  oughtn't  to 
talk  like  this,  being  paid  to  take  care  of  her  and  all, 
but  it  just  has  to  come  out.  She  wishes  everybody  else 
was  dead,  so  why  shouldn't  I  wish  the  same  for  her?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  she  wishes  you  were  dead?  " 

"  She  sure  does.      She's  said  it  a  hundred  times." 

"  She  doesn't  mean  it,  Miss  Corse.     It's  only  a  — " 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  does.  She  says  I'm  paid  to  spy  on  her 
and  that  I'm  nothing  more  than  a  dog  in  the  manger. 
She  keeps  telling  me  that  Mr.  Gilman  hires  me  as  a  sort 
of  jailer.  She  hates  me  worse  than  poison, —  and  she 
hates  you  too.  I  — " 

"  Why  should  she  hate  me  ?  She's  never  even  seen 
me." 

"  Yes,  she  has.  She  looks  at  you  through  the  window 
blinds  every  day.  She  hates  you  because  he  likes  you. 
Yes,  sir,"  she  went  on,  drawing  a  long  breath  through 
her  teeth,  "  it  would  be  a  godsend  if  she'd  shuffle  off  and 
be  done  with  it." 

"Why  do  you  stay?" 

She  answered  very  deliberately.  "  Well,  you  see, 
I've  been  here  so  long  that  I'm  sort  of  used  to  being 
miserable.  I  don't  believe  I'd  be  content  to  leave  be- 


SHERRY  319 

fore  she  died.  It  would  seem  as  though  I'd  wasted  the 
last  ten  years  if  I  wasn't  here  to  see  her  die." 

"  By  Jove,  Miss  Corse,  you're  a  queer  one,"  he  ex- 
claimed, impressed  by  the  singular  candour  of  the 
woman. 

"Maybe  I  am,"  she  said  curtly,  and  left  him. 

His  peace  of  mind  was  further  disturbed  by  an 
"  item  "  in  the  Dispatch  a  day  or  two  later.  It  was  in 
the  "  Personal  and  Society  "  column  and  read : 

"  Mr.  James  Burton  left  today  for  a  three  weeks' 
sojourn  in  the  Sunny  South.  He  will  visit  Palm  Beach, 
Jacksonville  and  other  resorts  in  Florida,  returning  via 
Old  Point  Comfort  and  New  York." 

That  settled  it.  It  had  all  been  arranged  before- 
hand. She  was  expecting  Jimmy  Burton  to  join  her  in 
Florida.  He  put  his  fond  and  secret  hopes  aside,  but 
refused  to  languish.  If  it  was  in  the  cards  that  Morna 
was  to  lose  her  heart  to  Jimmy  Burton  there  wasn't 
anything  he  could  do  to  prevent  it.  Obviously  he  had 
no  chance  himself,  and  he  was  learning  to  be  a  philos- 
opher. So  he  buckled  down  to  work  and  tried  to  put 
her  out  of  his  mind. 

And  then,  two  weeks  later,  he  received  a  long  letter 
from  her,  written  at  Ormond.  She  began  it :  "  Dear 
Sherry,"  and  signed  herself  "  Your  good  friend, 
Morna."  The  first  two  pages  were  devoted  to  a  glow- 
ing account  of  the  rare  good  time  she  was  having,  and 
then,  abruptly :  "  Jimmy  Burton  is  here.  We  were 
staying  in  the  same  hotel  at  first,  but,  would  you  believe 
it,  Granny  suddenly  decided  to  move  to  another.  She 
had  found  out  who  he  really  is.  She  said  she  never 


320  SHERRY 

dreamed  that  he  could  be  one  of  those  Burtons.  Some- 
how she  had  gone  on  all  the  while  believing  him  to  be  one 
of  the  town  Burtons, —  no  connection  of  the  Burtons 
out  our  way,  you  know.  Or  do  you  know?  There  is 
a  Burton  family  in  Farragut,  one  of  the  oldest  there,  so 
I  suppose  you  must  know  of  them.  The  funny  part  of 
it  is  that  I  let  her  go  on  believing  it,  and  I  am  afraid 
Jimmy  did  the  same.  But  the  other  day,  she  asked 
him  point-blank  if  he  was  related  to  our  Burtons,  and 
what  could  he  say  but  yes?  He  couldn't  lie  to  her, 
could  he?  You'd  think  his  honesty  would  have  appealed 
to  her,  wouldn't  you?  Well,  it  didn't.  She  flew  into  a 
perfectly  dreadful  rage,  and  so  did  I.  Of  course  in  the 
end,  I  begged  her  pardon.  She  cried  a  little,  and  so 
did  I.  But  when  I  went  on  to  say  that  she  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  herself  for  picking  on  poor  Jimmy  for 
something  he  couldn't  possibly  help, —  (he  cannot  help 
being  a  Burton,  can  he?)  —  she  calmly  informed  me 
that  I  was  not  to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  him.  I 
was  not  even  to  speak  to  him.  I  was  furious.  It  was 
too  absurd.  I  told  her  so  and  that  afternoon  we  moved 
over  to  this  hotel.  I  had  to  telephone  Jimmy  and  he 
was  terribly  cut  up  over  it.  He  can't  understand  why 
he  and  I  should  be  punished  because  our  silly  ancestors 
rowed  with  each  other.  Neither  can  I.  Being  a  Bur- 
ton doesn't  make  a  Bill  Sykes  of  him,  does  it?  Granny 
and  I  had  another  flare-up  last  night.  She  said  I  had 
gone  out  to  sit  with  him  on  the  porch, —  (I  don't  know 
how  it  was  possible  for  her  to  see  us,  it  was  so  dark), — 
and  I  didn't  deny  it.  I  will  not  put  up  with  such  treat- 
ment, Sherry.  You  would  think  she  knew  me  well 
enough  by  this  time  to  see  that  she  cannot  bully  me  any 


SHERRY  321 

longer.  I  am  quite  able  to  think  and  act  for  myself, 
and  I  told  her  as  much.  I  started  to  run  away  and 
leave  her  once  before  and  if  I  ever  start  out  to  do  it 
again,  there  will  be  no  turning  back.  I  told  Jimmy 
that  I  wouldn't  stand  it,  and  he  said  he  wouldn't  either  if 
he  was  in  my  place.  The  way  I  feel  tonight  it  wouldn't 
surprise  me  in  the  least  if  I  packed  up  my  duds  and 
walked  off  for  good.  But  I  don't  want  to  bore  you  with 
my  troubles,  so  I'll  close  before  I  say  anything  fool- 
ish." 

He  was  profoundly  distressed.  All  day  long  he 
thought  of  the  impending  calamity.  She  was  likely  to 
do  something  foolish,  and  it  might  be  that  she  would 
regret  it  all  the  rest  of  her  life.  If  she  ran  away  with 
and  married  Jimmy  Burton  — 

He  rushed  down  town  to  the  telegraph  office  and  sent 
a  night  letter  to  her.  It  was  the  result  of  an  hour's 
effort  in  composition. 

"  My  earnest  advice  in  the  matter  you  have  consulted 
me  about  is  to  go  slow.  Don't  do  anything  without 
long  and  careful  deliberation.  There  are  a  great  many 
things  to  consider.  There  is  a  lot  of  good  sense  in  the 
old  saying,  '  Think  twice  before  you  leap.' ' 

The  reply  came  that  afternoon. 

"  Thanks.     I  have  thought  twice.     Morna." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

ON  the  morning  of  the  sixteenth  of  March,  Mrs. 
Gilman  was  found  dead  in  her  bed.  She  had 
been  murdered  some  time  during  the  night, 
strangled  to  death  by  hands  that  left  cruel  black  marks 
on  her  white  neck ! 

A  wild  shriek  of  terror  aroused  Sheridan  Redpath 
from  the  first  sound,  heavy  sleep  he  had  enjoyed  in  many 
a  night.  He  sprang  out  of  bed  to  find  that  it  was  broad 
daylight.  Some  one  was  running  frantically  down  the 
hall,  screaming  inarticulate  calls  for  help.  He  felt  his 
hair  rise  on  end  as  he  leaped  toward  the  door.  A 
chill  ran  through  his  body,  leaving  it  as  cold  as  ice.  As 
he  threw  open  the  door,  Miss  Corse,  her  hair  down,  a 
loose  dressing-gown  clutched  tightly  across  her  breast, 
almost  fell  into  his  arms. 

"  She's  dead !  She's  dead !  Oh,  God  save  us  all !  " 
burst  from  her  writhing  lips. 

"  Sh!  For  heaven's  sake,  be  quiet,"  he  cried,  push- 
ing past  her  into  the  hall  and  closing  the  door.  "  The 
shock  will  kill  him.  Calm  yourself  — " 

"  She's  dead  as  a  door  nail !  My  God,  don't  you  un- 
derstand? She's  dead ! " 

He  caught  her  as  she  slipped  toward  the  floor.  The 
light  from  a  window  at  the  end  of  the  hall  fell  upon 
her  face.  It  was  livid  with  terror.  He  shook  her  with 
more  violence  than  he  intended. 

"Brace  up,  can't  you?     What  kind  of  a  nurse  are 

322 


SHERRY  323 

you  anyhow?  Haven't  you  seen  a  dead  person  before? 
Don't  act  like  this.  You've  said  yourself  that  she 
might  go  off  at  any  —  Keep  quiet,  I  say !  We've  got 
to  break  it  gently  to  him.  He  is  — " 

"  She  didn't  die,  she  didn't  die,"  moaned  the  quiver- 
ing nurse,  clutching  at  his  arms. 

"  Then  why  in  thunder  are  you  making  all  this  row 
over  — " 

"  She  was  murdered, —  killed  in  her  bed, —  choked  to 
death.  Oh,  God,  it  is  horrible!  The  bed  is  all  torn 
to—" 

"  Murdered !  "  he  gasped. 

" —  pieces.  She  fought  for  her  life.  Bed  clothes 
scattered  everywhere.  Pillows  on  the  floor.  Black  in 
the  face,  and  —  oh,  what  a  looking  face !  I  — " 

He  dashed  off  down  the  hall.  The  house-maid  was 
standing  near  the  head  of  the  stairs,  where  she  had 
halted,  frightened  almost  out  of  her  wits. 

One  glance-at  the  occupant  of  the  bed  was  convincing. 
There  had  been  a  violent  struggle ;  there  could  be  no 
doubt  that  Mrs.  Gilman  came  to  her  end  in  a  most  hor- 
rible manner. 

For  a  full  minute  he  stared  wide-eyed  and  fascinated 
at  the  gruesome  figure  of  the  woman  he  had  never  seen 
before.  Then  he  came  out  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him. 

"We've  got  to  tell  him  at  once,"  he  said,  hoarsely, 
as  he  came  up  to  the  two  shivering  women.  The  house- 
maid was  supporting  the  tragic  figure  of  the  nurse. 

"Who  done  it?"  she  whispered,  almost  dumb  with 
awe. 

"  Telephone  for  the  doctor  at  once,"  commanded  Red- 


324  SHERRY 

path.  "  And  you,  Miss  Corse,  go  in  and  see  if  by  any 
chance  she  may  still  be  alive.  You  never  can  be 
sure  — " 

"  I  wouldn't  go  in  there  again  for  a  million  dollars," 
chattered  the  nurse.  "  She's  dead  all  right.  Been 
dead  for  hours.  I  felt  of  her.  I  did  that  much." 

"  I  guess  you're  right.  Go  and  telephone,  Maggie. 
I'm  going  in  to  Mr.  Gilman." 

Andrew  Gilman  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  clad  only  in  his  night-shirt.  He  had  just  left  his 
bed  and  was  unmistakably  puzzled  by  the  disturbance  in 
the  hall  outside. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  demanded  irritably. 
"What  is  all  this  noise  about?  Did  I  hear  a  scream 
or  was  I  dreaming?  Speak  up !  Don't  stand  there  like 
a  post." 

"  Something  shocking  has  happened,  Mr.  Gilman," 
began  Sherry,  going  quickly  to  his  side.  "  Mrs.  Gil- 
man,—  you'd  better  sit  down,  sir.  It's  really  quite  ter- 
rible. I  —  I  don't  know  just  how  to  — " 

The  old  man  caught  his  arm  in  a  grip  of  iron. 

"  Go  on  !  Don't  be  afraid  to  tell  me.  I  can  stand  it. 
Is  —  is  she  — " 

"  She  is  dead,  sir." 

Andrew  Gilman's  face  went  deathly  white. 

"In  — in  the  night?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Was  she  alone?     Why  wasn't  I  called?" 

"  Miss  Corse  didn't  know  until  a  few  minutes  ago. 
I've  had  them  telephone  for  the  doctor.  He  ought  to 
be  here  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  Are  you  sure  she  —     Have  —  have  you  seen  her?  " 


SHERRY  325 

"  Yes,  sir.  Just  for  a  second.  You'd  better  not  go 
in  yet,  Mr.  Gilman.  It's  —  it's  horrible." 

"Horrible?  What  do  you  mean?"  He  sat  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed  suddenly.  His  face  was  ghastly. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  sir, —  I  don't  see  how  I  can^possi; 

bly  tell  you  what  has  ^aPPencd-"^^^^WS^^A 

The  old  man  was  staring  at  film,  glassy-eyed. '  "HisjC^ 
lips    began    to    work    spasmodically,    his    bony    hands''""5"' 
clutched  the  bedclothes  and  trembled  so  violently  that 
the  whole  bed  shook. 

"  Don't  —  for  God's  sake  don't  tell  me  —  she  has 
killed  herself !  "  he  groaned. 

"  Not  that,  sir.  It  couldn't  have  been  that.  She 
couldn't  have  done  it.  Some  one  else  —  Oh,  the  most 
horrible  thing  has  — " 

Mr.  Gilman's  chin  sank  to  his  breast.  He  uttered 
a  hoarse,  gasping  cry,  and  his  body  stiffened.  Sherry 
threw  himself  down  beside  him  and  put  a  strong  arm 
around  his  shoulders. 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir,  if  I've  broken  it  to  you  too  — " 

"  Go  away,"  muttered  the  old  man  hoarsely.  "  I'll 
—  I'll  dress  at  once.  Wait  for  me  in  the  hall." 

"  Better  let  me  assist  you  — " 

"  Put  on  your  own  clothes,"  said  Andrew  Gilman, 
lifting  his  head.  "  Leave  the  door  open.  You  can 
tell  me  everything  you  know  while  we're  dressing." 

"  We've  got  to  get  busy  at  once,  Mr.  Gilman.  Don't 
you  understand  ?  A  dreadful  crime  has  been  committed. 
This  is  no  time  to  think  of  — " 

"  You  think  she  was  murdered?  Why  do  you  think 
that  ?  Why,  I  ask  ?  "  cried  the  old  man,  struggling  to 
his  feet.  He  was  panting  thickly. 


326  SHERRY 

"  There  is  every  indication  of  a  struggle.  She  was 
strangled  to  death.  The  marks  — " 

"  Strangled?"  fell  from  the  lips  of  Andrew  Gilman. 
He  sat  down  again  heavily.  "  Choked  to  death?  My 
God,  boy,  do  you  know  what  you  are  saying?  " 

"  There  has  been  a  murder,  Mr.  Gilman,"  interrupted 
the  younger  man  firmly.  "  Some  one  in  this  house  may 
have  done  it.  Pull  yourself  together,  sir.  Leave 
everything  to  me.  I'll  send  for  the  police  at  once. 
There  isn't  a  moment  to  waste." 

"  The  police  ?     Oh !  not  the  police !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  There's  got  to  be  a  search,  an  investi- 
gation while  the  trail  is  warm.  Good  Lord,  sir,  can't 
you  see  the  position  the  rest  of  us  are  in  here?  Sus- 
picion may  fall  upon  any  one  of  us  — " 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  the  other.  "  That  must  be  headed 
off  at  once.  No  one  here  shall  be  suspected.  You  are 
right.  Go  at  once  and  telephone." 

The  doctor  arrived  a  few  minutes  later,  coming  in 
haste  from  his  home  down  the  street,  and  soon  after- 
wards three  or  four  police  officers. 

There  could  be  no  question  as  to  the  cause  of  Mrs. 
Gilman's  death.  The  doctor  announced  at  once  that 
she  had  been  throttled  by  a  powerful  pair  of  hands,  and 
that  she  had  been  dead  for  four  or  five  hours. 

Andrew  Gilman  waited  in  the  hall  while  the  examina- 
tion was  going  on.  He  refused  to  enter  the  room.  Dr. 
Andrews  seemed  to  understand.  He  knew  more  of  the 
unhappy  history  of  the  two  Gilmans  than  any  one 
else. 

The  police,  after  inspecting  the  room,  began  to  ques- 
tion the  occupants  of  the  house.  Inquiry  drew  from 


SHERRY  327 

Miss  Corse  the  facts  which  follow.  She  had  put  Mrs. 
Gilman  to  bed  at  ten  o'clock,  after  which  she  opened 
all  of  the  windows  as  usual.  The  old  lady  was  half 
asleep  when  she  left  her  and  retired  to  her  own  room 
across  the  hall,  where  she  was  soon  sleeping  soundly. 
It  was  after  seven  o'clock  when  she  awoke  and  tapped 
on  her  patient's  door.  She  always  went,  the  first  thing 
in  the  morning,  to  see  if  Mrs.  Gilman  was  in  urgent  need 
of  anything.  Failing  to  receive  the  usual  response,  she 
opened  the  door  and  went  in,  expecting  to  find  her 
asleep.  She  described  the  scene  that  met  her  gaze. 
Not  suspecting  that  Mrs.  Gilman  had  come  to  her  death 
by  foul  means,  she  rushed  over  to  the  bed  and  began 
to  work  with  the  stiff,  cold  body,  hoping  that  life  was 
not  extinct.  .  .  .  She  ran  out  of  the  room,  hardly 
knowing  what  she  did,  and  screamed  for  help.  Mr. 
Redpath  came  into  the  hall  in  his  pajamas. 

"  Were  the  windows  open  when  you  went  in  there  this 
morning?  "  inquired  the  "  plain-clothes  man,"  who,  up 
to  a  year  or  so  before  had  been  patrolman  No.  17,  but 
was  now  a  detective. 

"  I  didn't  look.  I  guess  they  were,"  said  Miss  Corse, 
twisting  her  fingers  nervously.  "  That's  all  I  know 
about  it,  so  help  me  God.  You  don't  think  I  know  any- 
thing more  about  it,  do  you?  I  swear  to  God  I — " 

"  Nobody's  accusin'  you,"  said  the  detective,  eyeing 
her  steadily.  "  Was  Mrs.  Gilman  feelin'  all  right  when 
you  put  her  to  bed  last  night  ?  " 

"  What's  that  got  to  do  with  it,  Ed?  "  demanded  the 
chief  of  police  roughly.  "  It  don't  make  any  difference 
how  she  was  feeling.  See  here,  Miss,  did  you  hear  any 
sounds  during  the  night?  Anybody  in  the  hall?  " 


328  SHERRY 

"  No,  sir.  I  never  woke  up.  I'm  a  light  sleeper 
too." 

"  Do  you  know  whether  Mrs.  Oilman  kept  any  valu- 
ables in  her  room  ?  " 

"  She  kept  her  jewels  in  the  bureau  drawer,  that's  all 
I  know." 

"  This  bunch  of  rings  and  bracelets  and  dewdads  I've 
got  here  in  my  hand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  think  that's  all  of  them." 

"  Any  money  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  never  saw  any,  except  occasion- 
ally five  or  ten  dollars  when  I  had  a  check  cashed  for 
her." 

They  got  no  more  than  this  out  of  Redpath,  and 
nothing  at  all  from  the  distracted  servants.  Mr.  Oil- 
man was  so  crushed  that  they  forbore  questioning  him. 

The  densest  mystery  surrounded  the  murder.  The 
strangler,  whoever  he  may  have  been,  was  not  actuated 
by  thoughts  of  ro'bbery,  for  nothing  had  been  taken 
from  the  house.  A  search  for  footprints  on  the  ground 
outside  the  windows,  an  easy  drop  of  ten  feet,  was  with- 
out result.  One  of  the  windows  opening  onto  the  side 
porch  was  unfastened,  but  if  it  had  been  used  as  a  means 
of  entrance  to  the  house  the  invader  was  careful  to  close 
it  on  his  departure.  The  house-maid  was  prepared  to 
swear  that  it  had  been  fastened.  Mr.  Oilman,  she  said, 
was  very  particular  about  having  the  porch  windows 
locked ;  he  had  been  especially  strict  about  it  during  the 
past  few  months,  frequently  testing  them  himself. 

The  coroner,  as  usual,  was  late  in  arriving.  Nothing 
could  be  done  until  he  had  "  viewed  the  body."  He  got 
there  at  ten  o'clock.  Being  of  an  opposition  political 


SHERRY  329 

party,  he  did  all  that  he  could  to  retard  the  activities 
of  the  police  department.  Everything  stood  still  until 
he  was  (as  he  put  it  himself)  "  good  and  ready."  He 
set  the  inquest  for  the  next  day  and  summoned  the  wit- 
nesses on  the  spot.  Then  he  went  down  town  and  told 
every  one  he  knew  that  the  police  force  of  Farragut  was 
the  rottenest,  stupidest  gang  of  blockheads  the  Lord 
ever  let  live.  (This  is  no  place  to  repeat  what  the 
police  force  was  saying  about  him.) 

Mr.  Gilman  established  himself  in  the  library,  and 
there  he  remained  all  day,  seeing  no  one  except  Red- 
path  and  his  lawyer.  He  seldom  left  the  chair  in  which 
he  had  dropped,  wearily,  after  listening  to  the  pro- 
foundly sympathetic  remarks  of  the  coroner  and  the 
statement  of  the  chief  of  police  that  he  would  "  get  the^ 
perpetrator  of  this  dastardly  crime  ifjie  had  to  rake, 
the  United  States  from  one  end  to  the  other." 

The  shades  and  curtains  in  the  library  were  drawn. 
He  complained  of  the  cold,  unfeeling  light  that  poured 
in  through  them  when  he  first  came  downstairs.  A 
sombre  dusk  pervaded  the  room,  which  was  as  still  as 
death  itself.  Only  Andrew  Gilman  spoke  in  ordinary 
tones ;  every  one  else  in  hushed  half-whispers. 

Men  came  and  went  all  day  long :  the  undertaker  and 
his  assistant,  the  pastor,  the  reporters,  the  detectives. 
Scores  of  curious  people  stood  on  the  sidewalks  below 
the  lawn  and  stared  by  the  hour.  Some  of  them  boldly 
encroached  upon  the  lawn  itself,  and  a  few  got  as  far  as 
the  porch.  Officer  Barney  Doyle,  routed  out  of  bed 
at  noon,  stood  guard  over  the  lawn  and  had  no  easy 
time  of  it  keeping  it  clear  of  trespassers. 

It  was  not  until  the  gloomy  day  was  far  advanced 


330  SHERRY 

that  Redpath's  thoughts  reverted  suddenly  to  the 
conversation  he  had  had  with  Miss  Corse  a  few  days 
earlier  in  the  week.  For  a  moment  he  felt  that  his  heart 
was  standing  still;  his  blood  seemed  to  turn  to  ice. 
Miss  Corse !  Could  it  be  that  she  —  But  it  was  too 
monstrous !  Nevertheless  he  experienced  strange,  ugly 
sensations,  when,  on  several  occasions  thereafter,  he 
found  her  gaze  bent  upon  him  with  curious  intensity. 
He  became  convinced  at  last  that  she  had  a  very  definite 
purpose  in  following  him  about  the  house, —  never 
closely  but  always  somewhere  within  earshot. 

He  confessed  to  an  actual  .shiver  when  she  finally 
beckoned  to  him  to  follow  her  into  the  kitchen,  at  the 
moment  unoccupied. 

"  Say,  Mr.  Redpath,  you  mustn't  pay  any  attention 
to  what  I  said  to  you  a  day  or  so  ago,"  she  began,  in  a 
low,  agitated  voice.  "  About  her,  I  mean.  If  the 
police  ever  heard  what  I  said  about  wishing  she  was 
dead  they'd  —  well,  they'd  suspect  me  sure,  and,  so 
help  me  God,  I  am  as  innocent  as  an  unborn  child.  I 
was  terribly  foolish  to  say  the  things  I  did.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  I  loved  Mrs.  Gilman.  I  didn't  have  a  thing 
against  her.  So  just  forget  that  I — " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Corse,"  he  broke  in,  "  I  don't  mind 
confessing  to  you  that  I  have  just  recalled  your  re- 
marks, and  I've  been  thinking  it  would  be  foolish  for 
you  to  repeat  them.  I  don't  believe  you  had  anything 
to  do  with  this  ugly  business,  of  course,  but  my  advice 
to  you  is  to  keep  your  mouth  closed  from  now  on." 

"  And  you  won't  blab  on  me  ?  "  she  cried  eagerly. 

"  Certainly  not.  But  let  me  go  a  little  farther  with 
my  advice.  If  you  know  of  a  single  thing  that  may 


SHERRY  331 

have  any  bearing  on  the  case,  tell  the  authorities,  no 
matter  who  it  may  hit  the  hardest.  The  chances  are  a 
hundred  to  one  you  will  be  put  through  the  third  degree 
before  they're  done  with  you.  They  may  even  go  so 
far  as  to  try  to  fasten  the  guilt  upon  you." 

"  The  third  degree?  "  she  murmured.  "  I've  heard 
of  that.  It  must  be  frightful."  She  began  twisting 
her  fingers  again.  "  They  can't  accuse  me,"  she  went 
on,  holding  her  voice  down  with  an  effort.  "  I  don't 
know  any  more  about  it  than  — "  She  broke  off 
abruptly  and  clutched  his  arm  in  a  frenzy  of  desper- 
ation. "  See  here,  Mr.  Redpath,  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  just  what  to  do.  I  am  not  supposed  to  breathe  a 
word  of  this,  but  I'm  not  going  to  keep  mum  if  they 
begin  to  pump  me  too  hard.  I'm  not  going  to  have 
them  suspect  me,  and  I  don't  care  a  hang  who  is  hurt 
by  what  I  can  tell.  Will  you  be  absolutely  square  with 
me  and  tell  me  what  to  do  ?  " 

"  If  there  is  anything  to  tell,  Miss  Corse,  you'd  better 
go  straight  to  the  police  with  it,"  he  said,  a  thrill  in  his 
veins.  "  You  see,  I  am  more  or  less  in  the  same  boat 
with  you.  Why  shouldn't  they  suspect  me  as  well 
as  — " 

"  They  won't  suspect  any  of  us  if  I  tell  all  I  know," 
she  said  doggedly.  "  Listen :  there  were  great  goings- 
on  in  this  house  last  November,  things  that  not  a  soul 
knows  about  except  me  and  Mr.  Oilman.  She  knew,  but 
she's  out  of  it  now.  You  were  the  worst  fooled  person 
on  the  place.  Lord,  how  he  did  pull  the  wool  over  your 
eyes." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  " 

"  That  jail-break, —  you  remember  that,  all  right,  all 


332  SHERRY 

right.  Well,  all  the  time  you  and  the  police .  were 
scouring  the  country  for  those  fellows,  one  of  them  was 
hiding  right  here  in  this  house.  Not  only  that,  but  he 
was  hiding  in  her  room,  and  all  three  of  us  knew  it." 

"  Good  Lord »     The  —  the  big  one?  " 

"  Yes.  Talk  about  nerve !  He  came  straight  to  this 
house  and  —  Say,  and  why  shouldn't  he  ?  Do  you 
know  who  he  is  ?  He's  their  son  !  " 

The  whole  story  came  out,  hurriedly,  jerkily,  cau- 
tiously. Sherry  listened  like  one  in  a  daze.  As  she 
went  on,  he  began  to  piece  things  together  and,  when 
she  had  finished,  the  whole  situation,  from  beginning  to 
end,  was  as  clear  as  day  to  him.  First  of  all,  Mrs. 
Compton's  interest  in  the  man  was  explained,  and  lastly 
Mr.  Gilman's  extraordinary  agreement  with  him.  Now 
he  knew  who  it  was  that  Andrew  Gilman  feaYed  and 
against  whose  malevolence  he  was  preparing  when  he 
engaged  a  "  body-guard."  And  he  had  failed  to  per- 
form the  one  important  duty!  The  blow  had  fallen 
while  he  slept! 

"  And  she  made  a  will  leaving  everything  she  had  to 
this  son  of  hers,"  Miss  Corse  was  saying.  "  Mr.  Gil- 
man tried  to  stop  her,  but  she  laughed  in  his  face.  That 
was  just  a  little  while  after  I  came  here.  They  didn't 
speak  to  each  other  again  until  last  fall.  When  this 
crook  was  here  in  the  house,  she  showed  him  the  will, 
just  to  prove  her  undying  love  for  him.  She  always 
kept  it  in  her  room,  locked  up.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what 
I  think,  Mr.  Redpath.  That  fellow  was  just  mean 
enough  to  sneak  back  here  and  kill  his  own  mother. 
They'll  never  be  able  to  prove  it  on  him  though.  He 
is  too  slick  for  that.  All  day  long  I've  been  thinking 


SHERRY  333 

it  out.  If  he  did  come  back,  you  can  bet  your  life  he 
has  covered  up  his  tracks  so  well  that  they'll  never 
prove  he  was  here.  He  went  to  California  last  fall.  If 
he  didn't  do  it,  he  hired  some  one  else,  and  will  pay  him 
after  he  gets  the  money.  It  amounts  to  more  than  a 
hundred  thousand." 

"  But  he  cannot  claim  the  estate  without  giving  him- 
self up.  He  is  a  fugitive  from  justice." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  she  muttered. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  no  one  knows  that  George  Smith, 
the  j  ail-bird,  and  William  Gilman  are  one  and  the  same. 
Unless  his  father  is  willing  to  admit  that  his  son  is 
alive,  when  supposed  to  be  dead,  and  that  he  aided  him 
in  escaping,  he  is  quite  safe  so  long  as  he  remains  far 
away  from  Farragut.  The  settlement  of  the  estate  can 
be  accomplished  through  lawyers.  He  will  not  even 
have  to  appear.  Even  though  his  father  may  suspect 
him,  he  is  probably  clever  enough  to  have  prepared  an 
alibi.  By  Jove,  it  may  be  the  solution !  " 

"  I'll  bet  my  head  that  Mr.  Gilman  gets  a  letter  from 
Los  Angeles  inside  of  the  next  ten  days,"  said  she,  sig- 
nificantly. "  The  news  of  this  murder  will  go  all  over 
the  country.  You  see  if  I'm  not  right.  And  Mr.  Gil- 
man won't  be  able  to  do  a  thing.  Hell  have  to  sit 
still  and  see  this  scoundrel  get  away  with  it." 

Redpath  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  thinking  hard. 
Miss  Corse  watched  him  anxiously. 

"  See  here,  Miss  Corse,"  he  said  finally,  "  it*£  up  to 
you  to  go  to  Mr.  Gilman  and  talk  this  matter  over  with 
him.  Don't  breathe  a  word  of  this  to  the  police  at  pres- 
ent. If  the  son  committed  this  murder,  it  will  be  a 
simple  matter  to  land  him.  He  will  put  in  a  claim  for 


334  SHERRY 

the  estate  under  his  own  name,  and  a  word  from  you  will 
reveal  his  dual  identity  to  the  authorities." 

"  I  can't  talk  to  Mr.  Gilman  about  it,"  she  said, 
nervously. 

"  Why  not  ?  You  are  in  on  the  secret.  It's  only 
fair  that  you  should  give  him  a  chance.  He  may  decide 
to  tell  everything  to  the  police." 

"  He'll  fcever  do  that.  I'll  be  leaving  here  I  suppose. 
My  job  is  finished.  I  can't  get  away  quick  enough." 
Her  voice  sank  to  a  low,  husky  whisper  and  her  eyes 
were  filled  with  terror.  "  That  fellow  knows  that  I  can 
do  him  a  lot  of  dirt.  He'll  try  to  put  me  out  of  the 
way.  I'll  be  the  next  to  go.  I  know  too  much.  He'll 
get  me  sure  as  — " 

"Nonsense!  He'll  not  bother  about  you.  •  You're 
as  culpable  as  the  rest  of  them.  All  he'll  have  to  do 
to  you  is  to  threaten  to  include  you  in  the  conspiracy, — 
and  that  would  mean  disgrace,  if  not  jail.  He  is  willing 
to  gamble  on  your  silence.  The  thing  for  you  to  do  is 
to  go  to  Mr.  Gilman  at  once  and  state  your  position. 
You  have  nothing  to  fear  from  the  law,  and  you  have 
nothing  to  fear  from  him.  I  want  to  see  that  scoundrel 
sent  to  the  gallows." 

"  You  promised  you  wouldn't  betray  me,"  she  whined, 
"  so  you  can't  repeat  what  I've  told  you  and  be  hon- 
ourable." 

"  I  shall  not  breathe  a  word  without  your  consent. 
But  here  is  the  situation  so  far  as  you  and  I  and  the 
servants  are  concerned :  detectives  from  Chicago  will  be 
put  on  this  case  and  they  will  suspect  every  one  of  us. 
They  will  work  on  the  theory  that  the  crime  was  com- 
mitted by  some  one  in  this  house." 


SHERRY  335 

"  I've  always  liked  Mr.  Oilman.  He  is  a  fine  man 
and  he's  had  enough  misery.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  him 
now.  I'd  rather  keep  still  and  take  the  consequences, 
than  to  turn  against  him,"  she  said,  with  a  strange  dig- 
nity that  he  did  not  believe  she  possessed.  "  He  trusts 
me." 

"  'Gad,  what  a  position  he  is  in,"  said  Sherry,  feel- 
ingly. "  A  word  from  him  would  send  his  own  son  to 
the  gallows.  It's  horrible." 

"  He  doesn't  love  his  son,  and  he  didn't  love  his  wife. 
I'll  bet  my  head  he's  glad  she's  dead.  Maybe  he  gets 
some  satisfaction  thinking  how  she  must  have  felt  last 
night  if  she  recognized  her  precious  darling  as  the  fellow 
who  was  choking  her  to  death.  Maybe — " 

"  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  Miss  Corse ! "  he  cried,  re- 
volted. 

"You  say  they'll  have  Chicago  detectives  on  the 
case?"  she  inquired  suddenly. 

"  Probably." 

"  Who'll  hire  them ?  Not  Mr.  Oilman,  you  can  bet," 
she  said,  eyeing  him  sharply. 

"  Mrs.  Gilman's  relatives, —  there  are  nephews,  I  be- 
lieve,—  and  a  sister,  you  know.  She  isn't  going  to  let 
this  thing—" 

"  Old  Mrs.  Compton  ?  They  hated  each  other  like 
poison." 

The  cook  came  into  the  kitchen  at  that  juncture. 
She  started  violently  on  beholding  the  two  in  close  com- 
munion, and  in  that  instant  suspicion  began  to  shape 
itself  in  her  bewildered  brain. 

Much  to  Sherry's  surprise,  Mr.  Gilman  instructed 
him  to  telegraph  to  Mrs.  Compton.  Not  only  that,  but 


336  SHERRY 

he  sat  at  the  table  with  the  young  man  and  assisted  in 
shaping  the  message  to  his  sister-in-law.  It  was  so 
worded  that  the  shock  would  be  lessened  when  she  read 
the  full  details  of  the  crime  in  the  news-dispatches. 

The  old  man's  face  was  like  marble.  Every  vestige 
of  colour  had  left  it,  and  it  seemed  incredibly  old  and 
worn  out.  There  were  other  messages  to  go  by  wire. 
Redpath  took  them  to  the  telegraph  office  at  three 
o'clock.  He  found  himself  wondering,  as  he  walked 
down  town,  what  Sherlock  Holmes  would  have  said  to 
this  freedom  of  action  on  the  part  of  one  of  the  inmates 
of  the  house  of  murder ! 

Late  that  evening  a  reply  came  from  Mrs.  Compton : 
"  I  am  leaving  tonight  for  Farragut,  arriving  day  after 
tomorrow.  Morna  is  not  with  me." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ANOTHER  telegram  came  up  with  the  one  from 
Mrs.  Compton.  Andrew  Gilman  opened  both 
of  the  envelopes  and  read  their  contents.  He 
passed  one  of  them  to  Redpath,  and,  calmly  arising 
from  his  chair,  crossed  over  and  threw  the  other  into 
the  fire  that  blazed  in  the  grate.  For  a  long  time  he 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  room,  clutching  the  mantel- 
piece with  one  bony  hand,  his  head  bent,  his  body  as 
rigid  as  steel. 

Sherry  was  staring  bleakly  at  the  message  from 
Florida.  "  Morna  is  not  with  me."  Five  words  that 
told  a  vast  and  complete  story  to  him ! 

It  w&s  impossible  to  sleep  that  night.  The  horror  in 
the  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  the  awful  stillness  of 
the  house,  the  knowledge  that  a  police  officer  sat  in 
the  library  downstairs,  and,  as  may  be  suspected,  the 
dismal  certainty  that  Morna  had  quarrelled  irrevocably 
with  her  grandmother  and  was  even  now  fleeing  happily 
with  a  triumphant  lover, —  all  these  conspired  to  baffle 
the  slumber  that  might  have  assuaged  the  united  pangs 
of  dread  and  despair. 

Mr.  Gilman  was  sleeping  soundly,  heavily,  for  the 
first  time  in  many  weeks.  His  deep,  stertorous  breath- 
ing could  be  heard  in  the  next  room. 

It  must  have  been  long  past  midnight  when  he  heard 
the  creaking  of  the  bed  in  Mr.  Oilman's  room,  and  a 
moment  later  sounds  which  indicated  that  the  sleeper 

337 


338  SHERRY 

had  waked  and  was  moving  about.  He  watched  the 
cnack  in  the  partly  opened  door  between  their  rooms  for 
the  light  that  must  soon  come  streaming  through.  In- 
stead of  that,  however,  the  door  was  opened  slowly, 
cautiously,  and,  by  the  dim  light  from  the  star-lit  win- 
dow, he  saw  the  shadowy  form  of  his  employer. 

Only  for  a  second  or  two  did  he  remain  motionless  in 
the  doorway,  apparently  listening.  Satisfied  that  Red- 
path  was  asleep,  he  advanced,  stealing  softly  past  the 
bed  and  making  his  way  toward  the  door  of  Mrs.  Gil- 
man's  sitting-room.  Sherry  did  not  move.  He  lay 
perfectly  still,  watching  the  dim  figure  with  fascinated 
eyes.  As  the  old  man  disappeared  into  the  room  be- 
yond, after  turning  the  knob  with  extreme  stealthiness, 
Sherry  slipped  out  of  bed  and  followed  with  equal 
caution. 

He  knew,  even  though  Mr.  Gilman  may  have  been 
ignorant  of  the  fact,  that  the  door  to  Mrs.  Oilman's 
bed-room  was  sealed  by  order  of  the  coroner. 

It  was  quite  clear  to  him  that  Mr.  Gilman  was  actu- 
ally on  his  way  to  the  room  from  which  he  had  been 
persistently  barred  for  so  many  years,  urged,  no  doubt, 
by  the  resurrection  of  a  long-dead  love  for  the  woman 
who  lay  there  dead  after  the  bitter  storms  of  half  a 
life-time.  He  was  going  to  her  now  to  make  peace  with 
her,  to  kneel  at  her  side,  and  to  kiss  the  still,  cold  brow. 

But  if  such  was  his  object  he  was  going  about  it  in  a 
most  extraordinary  manner.  The  light  from  an  arc 
lamp  in  the  street  below  revealed  his  white  figure,  bent 
low  at  the  intervening  door,  his  ear  to  the  key- 
hole! From  his  position  Sherry  heard,  rather  than 
saw,  his  hand  turning  the  knob.  Then,  after  a  moment, 


SHERRY  339 

the  bent  figure  straightened  slightly ;  it  was  evident 
that  he  was  straining  to  open  the  bolted  door. 

A  sudden  impulse,  created  by  pity  for  the  unhappy 
old  man,  moved  Redpath  to  switch  on  the  electricity, 
flooding  the  room  with  light.  He  expected  Mr.  Gilman 
to  whirl  upon  him  in  consternation.  To  his  utter 
astonishment,  the  old  man  did  not  change  his  position. 
He  continued  to  strain  at  the  locked  door,  to  all  intent 
utterly  oblivious  to  the  light  or  the  presence  of  a  wit- 
ness. For  a  moment  the  watcher  stared  in  wonder. 
Then  the  truth  burst  upon  him  suddenly.  Mr.  Gilman 
was  asleep ! 

He  felt  his  flesh  creep.  Dazed  for  an  instant  by  his 
discovery,  he  started  to  withdraw,  overcome  by  a  feeling 
of  awe.  The  spectacle  of  that  unconscious  old  man 
pulling  vainly  at  the  immovable  door  was  one  that  he 
would  never  forget. 

He  was  back  in  his  own  room,  his  eyes  still  glued  upon 
the  pitiful  object,  before  the  great' question  flashed  into 
his  brain.  Was  this  the  first  time  that  Andrew  Gilman 
had  passed  through  his  room  while  asleep?  For  a 
moment  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  in  utter  darkness ; 
everything  went  black  before  his  eyes.  A  monstrous 
fear  possessed  him.  .  .  .  He  crossed  the  room  swiftly 
and  laid  a  heavy  hand  upon  the  old  man's  shoulder. 

"  Mr.  Gilman ! "  he  shouted.  The  old  man  had 
abandoned  his  efforts  to  open  the  door  and  was  in  the 
act  of  crawling  through  the  window  to  the  roof  of  the 
veranda. . 

A  quavering  cry  rose  in  Gilman's  throat.  His  body 
stiffened  convulsively  and  a  second  later  he  began  beat- 
ing the  air  with  his  clenched  hands. 


340  SHERRY 

"  Help !     Help !     Keep  off  of  — " 

"It's  all  right  — it's  Sherry  Redpath,"  cried  the 
young  man.  "  Steady,  sir, —  steady !  " 

Mr.  Oilman  clutched  him  frantically,  gasping  with 
fear;  his  bony  fingers  sank  into  the  young  man's  arms 
with  the  power  of  a  vise.  His  eyes  were  tightly  closed, 
as  if  he  dreaded  to  look  upon  his  assailant ;  for  an  in- 
stant, however,  they  had  been  wide-open  and  charged 
with  utter  bewilderment. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Where  am  I  ?  What  are  you  trying 
to  do  with  me  ?  "  he  whimpered,  querulously,  his  voice 
high  and  thin. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  sir.     Come  back  to  bed.     You  — " 

"Why  am  I  here  in  this —  Oh,  my  God!"  He 
crumpled  up  suddenly  and  would  have  fallen  to  the  floor 
but  for  Redpath's  strong  arms.  Moaning  and  mum- 
bling meaningless  words,  he  suffered  himself  to  be  half- 
carried,  half-dragged  from  the  room.  It  was  with  dif- 
ficulty that  Sherry  got  him  into  bed,  and  there  he  lay 
speechless  for  many  minutes,  his  eyes  closed,  his  lips 
working  spasmodically,  his  fingers  bent  like  great, 
gaunt  claws. 

The  young  man  turned  on  the  lights  and  stood  beside 
the  bed,  helpless  and  bewildered,  watching  the  heaving 
breast  and  surging  throat  of  the  old  man.  He  did  not 
know  what  to  do.  -  The  horrid  truth  was  fastening 
itself  upon  him,  and  he  was  appalled.  A  great  pity  be- 
gan to  take  possession  of  him;  his  throat  was  tight; 
there  was  a  sob  of  anguish  in  it  that  he  could  not  re- 
lease. 

Finally  Andrew  Gilman  turned  his  haggard  face 
toward  him,  and,  bleak-eyed  with  consciousness,  raised 


SHERRY  341 

himself  upon  his  elbow.  His  voice  was  low  and  hoarse 
and  something  seemed  to  rattle  in  his  throat  as  he 
spoke.  His  mind  was  clear ;  he  had  succeeded  after  a 
mighty  effort  in  regaining  command  of  himself. 

"  Tell  me  everything,"  he  said. 

<f  You  were  walking  in  your  sleep,  sir.  I  was  awake 
when  you  passed  through  my  room,  and  I  got  up  to 
follow  you.  You  —  you  were  trying  to  enter  the  room 
where  —  where  Mrs.  Gilman  is." 

Mr.  Gilman's  eyes  began  to  burn  with  a  strange  inten- 
sity. "You  were  awake,  eh?  How  does  it  happen 
that  you  were  awake  tonight  and  not  last  night?  " 

Sherry  felt  the  cold  chill  creeping  over  him  again. 
Sweat  stood  on  his  brow. 

"  Do  you  mean,  Mr.  Gilman,  that  if  I  had  been  awake 
last  night  that  — "  He  did  not  complete  the  sentence, 
but  hung  expectantly  upon  the  words  that  were  to  fall 
from  the  old  man's  lips. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Andrew  Gilman  wearily. 
"  Through  no  actual  fault  of  yours  the  thing  has  hap- 
pened that  I  have  dreaded  for  years.  Tell  me  first, 
have  you  ever  known  me  to  walk  in  my  sleep  before?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir.  If  you  were  asleep  I  did  not 
know  it.  I  cannot  tell  you,  however,  the  number  of 
times  I  have  been  awakened  by  your  presence  in  my 
room.  When  I  spoke  to  you,  you  always  answered, 
and  then  went  back  to  your  own  room.  You  must  have 
been  awake.  Don't  you  recall  those  — " 

"  I  have  no  recollection  of  ever  having  been  in  your 
room.  If  what  you  say  is  true,  I  was  sound  asleep  on 
all  of  those  occasions.  God  help  me !  God  help  me !  " 
He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  fell  back  upon 


342  SHERRY 

the  pillow.  Instantly  he  withdrew  them  and,  holding 
them  off  at  some  distance,  surveyed  them  with  infinite 
loathing.  After  a  moment,  he  turned  fiercely  upon  the 
young  man.  "  Damn  you,  damn  you !  You  fail  me 
when  I — "  Gasping  for  breath,  he  clutched  at  his 
own  throat  and  glared  in  speechless  hatred  at  his  com- 
panion. Again  the  claw-like  hands  were  pressed  to  his 
eyes ;  his  body  stiffened  in  the  renewed  struggle  for  self- 
control.  Redpath  was  silent,  overwhelmed  by  the  recoil 
of  his  emotions.  At  length  the  tense  figure  relaxed  and, 
with  sorrowful,  appealing  eyes,  Andrew  Oilman  sought 
to  meet  the  other's  gaze. 

"  Sheridan,"  he  began  weakly,  "  I  ask  you  to  forgive 
me.  You  have  done  your  best.  I  can  ask  no  more.  It 
so  happens  that  on  one  night  God  let  you  sleep  more 
soundly  than  the  rest.  It  is  fate, —  fate.  I  thought 
you  would  be  my  safe-guard.  I  — "  He  broke  off, 
shudderingly.  "  You  found  me  tonight.  Why  could 
not  God  have  let  you  stop  me  last  night  ?  " 

"  Good  heaven,  sir,"  groaned  Sherry,  "  you  do  not 
know  what  you  are  saying.  You  are  assuming  that  — " 

"  Ah,  but  I  do  know  what  I  am  saying.  Assuming, 
you  say?  You  are  right.  I  am  assuming  something 
of  which  I  am  absolutely  ignorant  and  yet  I  speak  of 
a  moral  certainty.  The  thing  I  prepared  so  fully 
against  has  come  to  pass.  Now  you  know  what  your 
true  position  here  has  been  through  all  these  months. 
You  know  why  I  hired  you,  why  I  made  it  worth  your 
while  to  stay  on,  year  after  year, —  each  year  more 
productive  than  the  year  before,  the  final  years  bringing 
recompense  out  of  all  proportion.  You  were  to  keep 
me  from  becoming  the  unconscious  slayer  of  one  whom 


SHERRY  343 

God  permitted  me  to  hate  with  such  venom  that  I  lived 
in  constant  dread  of  myself.  You  — " 

"  Stop,  sir !  You  are  saying  things  to  me  that  you 
may  have  cause  to  regret." 

"  What  matters  now  ?  "  He  sighed.  "  It  is  all  over. 
The  thing  is  done.  I  needed  but  this  night's  experience 
to  convince  me  that  my  worst  fears  are  realized.  I  do 
not  know  what  happened  last  night.  I  shall  never 
know.  No  one  can  ever  know.  It  will  remain  for  ever 
an  unrecited  story,  horrible  in  its  every  detail." 

Sherry  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  He  was 
trembling  in  every  fibre  of  his  body ;  his  teeth  chattered. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Mr.  Gilman,  don't  say  anything 
more.  It  is  too  horrible." 

"  There  is  nothing  more  to  say,"  droned  the  old  man. 
"  Nothing.  If  I  were  to  be  dragged  into  the  presence 
of  my  Maker  and  called  upon  to  tell  what  happened  last 
night  I  would  be  dumb,  and  yet  I  can  draw  a  ghastly 
picture  of  that  black,  unholy  deed.  There  was  utter 
darkness  in  that  room,  and  yet  I  saw  as  if  it  were  broad 
daylight.  I  saw  her  there  and  yet  my  eyes  were 
sightless.  I  —  But  do  not  shrink  away  from  me,  boy  ! 
I  am  not  a  murderer  in  God's  eyes, —  nor  in  man's. 
Only  in  mine  own  eyes  am  I  a  destroyer.  You  slept. 
So  did  I,  but  oh,  how  vastly  our  slumbers  differed.  You 
dreamed  of  pleasant  things  and  in  sweet  repose.  I  also 
dreamed,  but  stalked  through  the  darkness  with  murder 
in  my  heart,  a  restless  soul  that  had  no  peace.  There 
is  nothing  more  to  say.  They  say  she  was  throttled 
by  a  pair  of  strong  hands.  That  is  true.  Strong 
hands  did  it,  but  not  one  of  God's  living  creatures  saw 
those  hands  at  work.  Draw  closer,  boy.  No  one  but 


344  SHERRY 

you  must  hear  what  I  am  about  to  relate.     No  I     I 
must  and  will  speak.     You  shall  be  my  judge." 

Redpath  closed  the  door  to  his  own  room  and  re- 
sumed his  seat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"  I  saw  you  and  Miss  Corse  go  into  the  kitchen  this 
afternoon.  She  is  in  a  very  peculiar  and  unpleasant 
position.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  betray  what  she  said  to 
you  in  confidence.  At  the  time  I  was  convinced,  how- 
ever, that  she  told  you  the  story  of  all  that  happened 
last  November.  You  have  had  it  all  from  her,  I  dare- 
say. I  have  no  apology  to  make.  I  did  what  any  man 
would  have  done.  Miss  Corse  will  connect  that  incident 
with  the  occurrence  of  last  night.  In  her  mind  she 
will  doubtless  argue  that  my  son  is  responsible  for  —  for 
all  this.  I  had  a  telegram  from  him  this  afternoon. 
The  message  you  sent  to  Wallace  Grant  in  Los  Angeles, 
was  for  him.  He  is  conducting  a  gambling  place  out 
there.  You  saw  me  throw  his  message  into  the  fireplace. 
He  merely  said, —  I  could  not  forget  the  words  if  I  lived 
to  be  a  thousand, — *  I  can  only  say  I  hope  they  hang  the 
murderer  ! '  That  was  all.  He  guessed  the  truth.  He 
was  prepared  for  it  by  the  admissions  of  his  mother. 
She  has  always  said  that  I  would  kill  her  in  my  own  good 
time.  She  expressed  this  fear  to  William.  He  be- 
lieves, however,  that  I  committed  the  act  deliberately 
and  with  premeditation.  He  would  never  believe  that  I 
did  it  while  asleep. 

"  My  sleep-walking  habits  were  known  to  Mrs.  Gil- 
man.  I  have  always  been  a  somnambulist.  In  my 
waking  hours  I  had  no  thought  of  taking  her  life,  but 
in  my  sleeping  hours  I  have  had  a  hundred  dreams  in 


SHERRY  345 

which  that  act  took  place.  A  hundred  times  have  I 
paused  outside  her  door  in  the  morning  waiting  for 
sounds  from  within  to  convince  me  that  it  was  a  dream 
and  nothing  more.  I  need  not  describe  my  dreams. 
They  were  singularly  alike,  and  always  with  the  same 
ending.  I  was  always  stealing  upon  her  while  she  slept, 
and  — '  His  gaze  dropped  slowly  to  his  hands,  and  a 
mighty  shudder  ran  through  his  frame. 

"  I  began  to  live  in  a  state  of  mortal  terror.  The 
night  would  come  when  it  would  not  be  a  dream.  You 
will  ask  why  the  doors  were  not  locked.  She  had  the 
locks  removed  a  year  ago.  It  was  perversity  on  her 
part.  Whatever  I  did  was  wrong  in  her  eyes.  If  I  had 
insisted  on  keeping  the  doors  unlocked  she  would  have 
had  them  barred  and  bolted. 

"  Obsessed  by  the  dread  that  followed  me  to  bed  every 
night,  I  soon  fell  into  a  condition  of  health  that  alarmed 
me.  Can  you  not  understand  what  it  would  mean  to  be 
afraid  to  go  to  sleep?  And  the  havoc  of  a  hundred 
sleepless  nights?  I  was  wearing  myself  out,  fighting 
against  the  thing  I  feared.  Twice  in  the  month  before 
you  came  to  this  house,  I  tested  myself.  On  one  occa- 
sion I  shifted  that  heavy  bureau  in  front  of  my  door. 
The  next  morning  I  found  that  it  had  been  pushed 
aside!  Can  you  appreciate  what  that  meant  to  me? 
For  two  weeks  I  moved  that  bureau  over  to  block  the 
door,  and  for  two  weeks  it  remained  as  I  had  placed  it. 
I  began  to  take  hope.  Then  one  morning  it  was  shoved 
aside  again.  My  second  experiment  came  the  follow- 
ing night.  I  tied  both  of  my  feet  to  the  rods  in  the 
footboard  of  this  bed,  using  stout  strips  cut  from  a 


346  SHERRY 

soft  woolen  blanket.  I  made  the  loops  and  knots  as 
secure  as  I  knew  how,  and  went  to  sleep,  sure  that  if  I 
struggled  against  these  bonds  I  would  awaken  myself. 
The  next  morning  I  found  that  I  had  untied  those  hard 
knots  and  freed  myself!  I  had  done  these  things  in 
my  sleep.  The  proof  was  before  me.  I  could  no  longer 
doubt.  It  was  then  that  I  thought  of  putting  a  living 
barrier  between  me  and  those  rooms  beyond.  That  is 
how  and  why  you  came  to  this  house.  You  served  my 
purpose  well  for  months.  I  have  no  recollection  of 
being  in  your  room,  and  yet  you  say  I  was  there  a  num- 
ber of  times.  I  never  dared  to  ask  you  if  you  had 
found  me  walking  in  my  sleep.  I  was  afraid  of  your 
answer. 

"  No  man  will  ever  know  whether  I  took  the  life  of 
that  unhappy,  helpless  creature  who  lies  in  there  now. 
I  do  not  know  it  myself.  I  believe  that  I  did.  You 
believe  that  I  did,  and  the  world  would  agree  with  both 
of  us  if  we  asked  for  an  opinion.  You  see  I  am  quite 
calm  now.  That  is  because  I  am  convinced  in  my  own 
mind  that  all  doubt  has  been  removed.  I  am  not  guilty 
of  murder.  God  knows  that  in  my  waking  hours  I 
would  not  have  harmed  a  hair  of  her  head  for  all  the 
wealth  of  the  world,  even  though  I  had  come  to  despise 
her  as  no  one  was  ever  despised  before.  She  is  dead  and 
cannot  defend  herself,  but  I  am  forced  to  declare  to  you 
that  there  was  a  time  when  my  life  was  not  safe.  That 
was  ten  years  ago.  I  shall  utter  no  more  than  the  one 
word  *  poison '  and  leave  the  rest  to  your  intelligence. 

"  You  have  heard  me  to  the  end.  I  rest  my  case  with 
you.  If  you  deem  it  best  to  tell  the  police  all  that  you 
have  discovered  and  all  that  I  have  confessed,  I  shall 


SHERRY  347 

abide  by  your  decision.  I  shall  deny  nothing.  Indeed, 
I  shall  repeat  all  that  I  have  said  to  you." 

He  sank  back  exhausted.  For  many  minutes  Red- 
path,  torn  and  harassed  by  his  emotions,  sat  staring  at 
the  floor.  What  was  he  to  do? 

Mr.  Gilman  spoke  again.  "  They  will  never  believe 
that  I  was  asleep  when  I  did  it,"  he  said,  pulling  the  bed- 
clothes close  about  his  thin  neck. 

"  You  mean  that  they  will  hold  that  you  were  awake 
and  conscious  of  your  act?  " 

"  They  will  assume  it.  I  am  a  well-hated  man  in  this 
community.  People  have  said  that  I  kept  her  locked  up 
here,  a  prisoner.  A  man  who  would  do  that,  would  not 
have  much  to  stand  on  if  it  came  to  a  — " 

"My  testimony  would  offset  all  such  prejudice  as 
that,  sir.  I  can  swear  that  you  were  asleep  to- 
night — " 

"  But  you  cannot  swear  that  I  was  asleep  last  night." 

"Circumstantial  evidence  would  certainly  have  its 
effect  — " 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  then,  it  is  in  your  mind  to 
go  to  the  authorities  with  this  story,  Sheridan?  "  His 
voice  was  thick  and  he  spoke  haltingly,  with  a  percep- 
tible effort. 

"  I  shall  not  tell  the  authorities  a  word  of  this,  sir, 
unless  the  time  comes  when  some  one  else  is  unjustly  ac- 
cused." 

"  I  would  have  you  tell  them  in  that  event,"  said  the 
other.  "  Miss  Corse  may  accuse  my  son.  The  police 
may  even  try  to  fasten  the  crime  upon  Miss  Corse.  In 
either  case,  I  give  you  full  permission  to  speak.  Your 
real  work  here  is  ended.  I  release  vou  from  vour  con- 


348  SHERRY 

tract.  I  would  be  very  happy  to  have  you  stay  on  with 
me  for  awhile  longer.  Some  one  will  have  to  look  after 
my  affairs.  I  shall  not  be  able  — " 

"  You  will  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two,  sir,"  said 
Sherry  lamely.  "  I  will  stay  as  long  as  you  need  me, 
however.  Try  to  go  to  sleep  now." 

"Will  you  sit  here  in  the  room  with  me?"  pleaded 
Andrew  Gilman.  "  Wrap  some  blankets  about  you  and 
sit  in  that  big  chair.  I  —  I  don't  want  to  be  left  alone 
tonight."  His  voice  sounded  tired  and  far-away,  but 
little  more  than  a  whisper. 

Redpath  got  the  blankets  off  of  his  own  bed  and  pre- 
pared to  make  himself  as  comfortable  as  possible. 

"  Shall  I  turn  off  the  lights?  "  he  asked  gently. 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Gilman,  after  a  long  wait. 

Before  settling  down  in  the  Morris  chair,  the  young 
man  leaned  over  the  bed  and  tucked  the  covers  in  about 
the  old  man.  Andrew  Gilman  did  not  speak.  He  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  on  Redpath's  face,  and  they  were  begging, 
frightened  eyes  that  the  young  man  found  hard  to  en- 
counter. There  was  colour  in  his  cheeks  too, —  a  dark 
and  growing  red  that  encouraged  the  observer  in  the 
belief  that  he  was  warm  and  comfortable  and  would  soon 
fall  into  a  restful  sleep,  confident  that  all  was  well  with 
him  for  the  night  at  least,  let  the  morrow  bring  what 
it  would. 

It  was  a  never-to-be-forgotten  night  in  the  life  of 
Sheridan  Redpath.  For  hours  he  sat  huddled  in  the 
chair,  watching  the  gaunt,  still  face  on  the  pillow.  The 
old  man  slept.  His  breathing  became  harsh  and  loud, 
his  restless  movements  ceased. 

Daylight  came,  slowly,  pallidly, —  sneaking  out  of 


SHERRY  349 

the  darkness  as  if  it  too  were  afraid  to  venture  incau- 
tiously. The  watcher,  confessing  to  relief  from  an 
unholy  fear  such  as  he  had  never  known  before,  wel- 
comed the  grey  dawn  that  streaked  in  through  the  win- 
dow shutters. 

He  arose  stiffly  and  turned  off  the  electric  light.  The 
room  was  still  so  dark  that  he  caught  his  breath  sharply, 
and  was  on  the  point  of  pushing  the  button  again  when 
his  pride  intervened.  What  was  there  to  be  afraid  of 
now?  Why  should  he  fear  this  limp,  frail  old  man? 
And  yet  he  felt  his  flesh  crawl  as  he  turned  his  back  for 
a  moment  to  throw  open  the  window-shutters.  He  tried 
to  laugh  at  his  fears,  and  the  fears  that  had  kept  the 
vigil  with  him  since  one  o'clock.  Now  he  knew  what 
it  was  that  he  had  dreaded  through  all  those  intermin- 
able hours.  Not  the  man  himself,  but  the  possibility 
of  his  rising  from  the  bed  to  prowl  forth  on  another  of 
his  sinister  nocturnal  missions. 

Commanding  his  shaken  nerves,  he  deliberately  drew 
his  chair  over  to  the  window  cjad  sat  down  with  his 
back  to  the  bed  to  watch  the  breaking  day. 

Sitting  there,  hunched  up  and  bleak  with  misery,  he 
went  back  over  the  months  and  summed  up  his  experi- 
ences ;  out  of  his  calculations  came  the  final  responsibil- 
ities that  now  confronted  him.  There  was  not  the 
slightest  question  in  his  mind  as  to  the  course  he  should 
pursue.  For  the  present  at  least  he  would  shield  this 
broken,  wretched  old  man  who  had  depended  on  him  for 
so  much,  and  who,  despite  their  singular  agreement,  had 
more  than  a  passing  interest  in  him.  He  believed  that 
Andrew  Gilman,  cold  and  hard  and  unfriendly  as  his 
nature  may  have  been,  had  developed  a  sincere  and  last- 


350  SHERRY 

ing  affection  for  him.  He  would  not  deliver  Andrew 
Gilman  up  to  the  Philistines. 

Sparrows  were  chirping  noisily  in  the  trees,  and  the 
gongs  of  early-hour  trolley  cars  were  clanging  in  the 
distant,  invisible  streets  when  he  turned  from  the 
window  and  trod  softly  across  the  thick  carpet  toward 
his  own  room.  It  was  six  o'clock.  He  would  dress 
and  —  but  he  stopped  short  as  he  came  to  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  struck  by  the  extraordinary  change  in  the 
sleeper's  face.  It  was  horribly  contorted ;  the  mouth 
was  open,  one  corner  being  drawn  down  so  that  the 
teeth  and  gums  were  exposed.  The  eyes  were  open  and 
followed  him  as  he  moved  slowly  toward  the  head  of  the 
bed. 

A  moment  later  he  was  running  down  the  hall  toward 
Miss  Corse's  door.  She  came  back  with  him. 

"  Lord,  if  I  haven't  had  enough  for  one  day,"  she 
grumbled  in  the  hall.  One  glance,  a  single  grip  on  the 
limp  wrist,  and  she  looked  helplessly  up  into  Redpath's 
face. 

"  Stroke,"  she  whispered. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

REDPATH  met  Mrs.  Compton  at  the  railway 
station.  His  eager  eyes  searched  in  vain  for 
another  figure  among  the  few  travellers  who 
descended  from  the  through  train  at  Farragut.  Mrs. 
Compton  was  quite  alone. 

As  briefly  as  possible  he  described  the  distressing 
events  of  the  past  forty-eight  hours.  The  coroner's  in- 
quest had  been  held  that  morning,  and  the  verdict,  after 
the  examination  of  the  inmates  of  the  house,  was  that 
Mrs.  Oilman  had  come  to  her  death  at  the  hands  of  "  a 
person  unknown  to  this  jury."  He  was  taking  her  to 
Andrew  Oilman's  house,  where  services  were  to  be  held 
at  four  o'clock. 

A  nephew  of  Mrs.  Oilman  had  consented  to  enter  the 
house  after  a  lapse  of  thirty  years, —  first  making  sure 
that  Andrew  Oilman  was  flat  on  his  back  and  helpless, — 
and  had  assumed  charge  of  the  arrangements.  He  was 
a  pompous,  middle-aged  person  who  insisted  on  every- 
thing being  done  "  nicely."  As  he  recalled  his  poor, 
departed  aunt  (through  the  haze  of  years),  he  was  sure 
that  it  would  be  like  her  to  want  everything  done  as 
nicely  as  possible.  Indeed,  he  was  positive  she  would 
want  a  nice,  quiet  funeral ;  no  fuss  and  feathers  about  it. 

Insisting  that  the  services  and  interment,  which  were 
to  be  strictly  private,  should  be  nice  and  quiet,  he  com- 
manded the  police  to  disperse  the  morbid  crowd  that 
had  been  hanging  afoout  the  premises  since  early  morn, 

351 


352  SHERRY 

and  the  police  in  carrying  out  his  wishes  explained  to 
the  voters  that  Eliphalet  Blair  was  responsible  for  the 
orders,  with  the  result  that  a  perfectly  inoffensive  and 
hitherto  highly-esteemed  citizen  of  Farragut  took  the 
place  of  Andrew  Gilraan  as  the  meanest  man  in  town. 

All  the  way  up  from  the  station  in  the  limousine  Mrs. 
Compton  eyed  her  young  companion  closely,  specula- 
tively.  As  they  turned  into  the  street  below  the  Gilman 
gates,  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  said : 

"  And  the  doctor  is  convinced  that  Andrew  Gilman 
will  never  speak  again?  " 

"  He  is  hopelessly  paralysed,  Mrs.  Compton." 

"  Then  I  am  afraid  the  mystery  will  never  be  cleared 
up,"  she  said  slowly.  He  started.  Had  she  divined 
the  truth?  Her  next  remark  was  even  more  cryptic. 
"  The  walls  have  ears,  but,  like  dead  men,  they  tell  no 
tales." 

Andrew  Gilman  lay  inert  and  helpless  in  his  room 
upstairs.  There  was  intelligence  in  his  dreary,  hope- 
less eyes, —  and  that  was  all  that  was  left  of  the  vital 
Andy  Gee.  His  last  word  had  been  spoken  to  Sherry 
Redpath.  He  would  never  utter  another. 

There  were  "  third  degree  "  proceedings,  conducted 
by  the  local  police  and  the  prosecuting  attorney.  Con- 
trary to  Redpath's  expectations,  Mrs.  Compton  did  not 
engage  private  detectives  to  unravel  the  mystery.  She 
went  upstairs  to  see  Andrew  Gilman  after  the  services, 
and  for  a  few  minutes  was  alone  with  him.  She  looked 
into  his  eyes  and  spoke  to  him,  and  he  understood,  for  he 
lowered  his  lids  and  tears  stole  out  between  them.  And 
when  the  chief  of  police  asked  her  a  day  or  two  later  if 


SHERRY  353 

she  could  authorize  the  offer  of  a  substantial  reward  for 
the  arrest  of  her  sister's  slayer,  she  flatly  refused  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  case. 

Miss  Corse  had  a  hard  time  of  it  at  the  hands  of  the 
examiners.  They  had  her  "  on  the  mat  "  for  hours  ;  she 
came  out  of  the  ordeal  triumphant  but  with  her  nerves 
so  shattered  that  she  took  to  her  bed  for  several  days. 

"  I  never  told  them  a  word  about  that  man  being  here 
in  the  house  last  November,"  she  said  to  Redpath,  eager 
for  his  approval.  "  Not  a  word.  I  took  your  advice 
and  kept  my  trap  closed  about  that  business.  I  can 
see  where  it  would  lead  to,  and  God  knows  I've  had  hell 
enough  here  without  adding  anything  more  to  it  by 
mixing  myself  up  in  —  Why,  they  might  clap  me  in 
the  cooler,  just  as  you  say,  as  an  accomplice.  Besides, 
I've  got  a  heart.  I  couldn't  stand  it  if  they  got  to 
brow-beating  and  questioning  that  helpless  old  man  up 
there.  I  wouldn't  bring  anything  like  that  on  him,  not 
for  the  world.  Now,  I  want  you  to  swear  on  your  soul 
never  to  repeat  what  I  told  you.  We've  got  to  stand 
together  on  this.  I  can  see  that  you  don't  believe  Wil- 
liam Gilman  had  anything  to  do  with  this  killing,  so 
let's  drop  it.  I'm  beginning  to  think  he  didn't  myself. 
Have  I  your  promise?  " 

"  You  have,  Miss  Corse, —  my  sacred  word  of 
honour." 

"  All  right.  They  can't  get  it  out  of  me  now,  no 
matter  what  happens." 

It  should  go  without  saying  that  the  authorities  were 
completely  baffled.  At  first  there  was  talk  among  them 
ef  demanding  a  true  bill  against  Miss  Corse,  but  that 
plan  was  abandoned  when  it  became  clear  to  them  that 


354  SHERRY 

they  could  not  produce  the  slightest  bit  of  evidence 
against  her. 

Finally  an  advanced  criminologist  appeared  on  the 
scene,  coming  from  Chicago  of  his  own  volition  and  at 
his  own  expense  (being  an  amateur  of  means),  and 
upset  all  of  the  calculations  by  calmly  asserting  that 
Mrs.  Gilman  had  not  been  murdered  at  all !  She  had 
committed  suicide !  He  went  on  to  prove  that  she  had 
strangled  herself  in  a  fit  of  insanity, —  and  the  police, 
failing  to  see  how  any  one  else  could  have  done  it,  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  right.  This,  of  course, 
was  after  weeks  of  fruitless  investigation,  covering  the 
detention  and  examination  of  every  loafer  and  crook  in 
Farragut. 

Meanwhile,  Andrew  Gilman's  lawyer  had  gone  into 
court  and  had  himself  appointed  temporary  custodian, 
pending  the  restoration  of  his  client's  faculties.  The 
first  thing  he  did  was  to  dispense  with  the  services  of 
Sheridan  RecTpath. 

He  summoned  the  young  man  to  his  office.  Redpath, 
anticipating  what  was  to  follow,  rummaged  among  the 
papers  in  Andrew  Gilman's  desk  and  finding  the  dupli- 
cate of  the  contract  he  held  in  his  possession,  coolly  de- 
stroyed both  papers.  He  was  no  longer  of  any  use 
to  Andrew  Gilman,  except  as  a  collecting  agent;  he 
could  not  explain  his  position  without  exposing  the 
secret  motives  behind  that  amazing  contract.  The 
housemaid  and  chauffeur  who  witnessed  the  signatures 
to  the  instrument,  as  a  matter  of  form,  did  so  without 
acquainting  themselves  with  the  contents,  being  satisfied 
with  Mr.  Gilman's  statement  that  they  were  signing  a 
simple  agreement  between  himself  and  his  new  secretary. 


SHERRY  355 

Now  that  he  knew  all  that  was  in  Mr.  Gilman's  mind 
at  the  time  the  agreement  was  made,  his  own  sense  of 
fairness  rebelled  against  the  premise  that  he  could  hold 
the  old  man  to  his  bond  and  go  on  accepting  a  salary 
that  was  even  now  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  return 
he  gave  for  it,  to  say  nothing  of  the  future  with  its 
preposterous  emoluments. 

Nothing  was  farther  from  his  thoughts,  however,  than 
the  desertion  of  his  employer  at  this  critical  time.  He 
smiled  as  he  threw  the  papers  into  the  fire,  and  then 
went  blithely  down  to  the  lawyer's  office,  ignorant  of  the 
fact  that  he  had  no  right  to  terminate  an  agreement 
with  so  little  regard  for  the  law,  even  though  his  inten- 
tions were  of  the  best. 

"  I  see  by  these  vouchers  that  Mr.  Gilman  has  been 
paying  you  two  hundred  dollars  a  month,"  said  Mr. 
Blanding  sourly. 

"  Yes,  sir.     Two  hundred,"  said  Sherry. 

"  Do  you  think  you  were  worth  it?  " 

"  No.     But  Mr.  Gilman  thought  I  was." 

"  Ahem !  My  office  will  take  charge  of  his  aff airs 
from  now  on.  Your  services  will  not  be  required  after 
the  first  of  the  month.  Eighteen  dollars  a  week  is 
ample  pay  for  a  collector,  Mr.  Redpath." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  am  discharged?  " 

"  You  are  merely  discontinued,"  said  Mr.  Blanding 
politely. 

Redpath  arose.  He  sighed,  but  it  was  unmistakably 
a  sigh  of  relief.  "  All  right,  sir.  I  wish  there  was  some 
way  of  letting  Mr.  Gilman  know  that  I  am  not  leaving 
of  my  own  accord.  He  counted  on  me  to  stay  by  him, 
and  I  am  sorry  to  go  for  that  reason.  Perhaps  it 


356  SHERRY 

would  not  be  wise  for  me  to  say  anything  to  him  about 
it.  He  is  so  helpless  and  —  well,  I'd  be  afraid  of  the 
effect  it  might  have  on  him.  You  need  not  smile,  Mr. 
Blanding.  I  am  quite  serious.  I  meant  more  to  him 
than  you  can  understand." 

"  I  admit  all  that,  my  boy.  He  has  often  spoken  of 
you  to  me.  But  he  no  longer  needs  a  fireside  com- 
panion, and  an  eighteen  dollar  a  week  man  can  take  care 
of  the  rest  of  your  duties.  I  have  engaged  a  trained 
attendant  to  look  after  him  from  now  on.  It  is  a  man's 
work,  not  a  woman's." 

"  Miss  Corse  is  also  to  go  ?  " 

"  Obviously." 

"  Mr.  Gilman  does  not  like  strangers,"  said  the  other, 
flatly.  "  He  hasn't  much  longer  to  live.  Pardon  me 
for  suggesting  that  you  can  make  his  last  days  happier 
and  easier  if  you  permit  him  to  retain  his  old  and  fa- 
miliar — " 

"  I  think  I  can  manage  without  your  advice,  Red- 
path,"  said  Mr.  Blanding  curtly.  "  As  you  say,  Mr. 
Gilman  is  helpless.  That  is  why  I  have  been  appointed 
to  safeguard  his  interests.  It  is  high  time  some  one 
took  charge  of  them.  Even  you,  sir,  will  admit  that 
fifty  dollars  a  week  is  rather  stiff  pay  for  a  collector  of 
rents."  There  was  something  significantly  accusative 
in  his  manner. 

Redpath  flushed.  "  If  you  mean  to  imply  that  I 
am—" 

"  I  am  not  accusing  you  of  anything  wrong,  Red- 
path,"  broke  in  the  lawyer.  "  I  merely  make  mention 
of  the  fact  to  support  my  claim  that  Andrew  Gilman 


SHERRY  357 

has  not  been  capable  of  looking  after  his  affairs  for 
some  time  past." 

"  Good  Lord !  "  Fierce,  bitter  words  were  on  his 
tongue,  but  he  held  them  back.  He  glared  at  the  smug 
lawyer  for  a  moment  or  two  and  then  allowed  his  whim- 
sical, humorous  smile  to  come  into  play.  "  I'd  hate  to 
be  in  your  shoes,  Mr.  Blanding,  if  Andrew  Gilman 
should  happen  to  recover  from  this  attack." 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Redpath,"  snapped  the  lawyer. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Blanding,"  replied  Sherry,  and 
sauntered  out  of  the  office. 

On  his  return  to  the  Gilman  house,  he  found  Miss 
Corse  in  a  high  state  of  excitement.  The  male  attend- 
ant had  arrived  from  Chicago,  and  was  now  upstairs 
with  Dr.  Andrews  and  the  sick  man. 

"  I've  got  my  walking  papers,"  she  said.  "  I'm  glad 
of  it,  in  a  way,  too.  It  lets  me  out  of  having  to  give 
notice  to  Mr.  Gilman.  It's  a  rotten  shame.  He'll  die, 
sure  as  shooting,  with  that  fellow  yanking  him  around 
as  if  he  was  a  bag  of  meal.  Poor  old  man  !  " 

"  I'm  in  the  same  boat.     I'm  sacked  too." 

"  Good  gracious !  Why,  you  were  his  main  stand-by 
and —  Say,  Mr.  Redpath,  there  is  something  impor- 
tant I've  got  to  tell  you."  She  lowered  her  voice. 
"  You  remember  the  will  I  spoke  to  you  about?  Well, 
it's  gone.  Her  lawyer  was  here  a  while  ago  and  I  was 
in  the  room  with  him  and  his  assistant  when  they  went 
through  her  desk.  I  never  mentioned  that  will,  you 
may  be  sure,  but  I  had  my  eyes  and  ears  open  all  the 
time  they  wore  going  through  things.  She  kept  it 
locked  up  in  a  little  drawer  of  her  desk,  and  the  key 


358  SHERRY 

was  always  on  a  string  around  her  neck, —  in  a  sort  of 
little  bag.  Well,  sir,  they  found  a  lot  of  receipts  and 
things,  but  not  hide  or  hair  of  the  will.  It's  gone. 
And  like  a  flash  I  remembered  that  the  key  wasn't 
around  her  neck  when  I  found  her  that  morning.  Now 
what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

He  had  very  definite  thoughts  about  "  that,"  but  he 
was  careful  not  to  express  them  to  Miss  Corse.  The 
solution  was  perfectly  clear  to  him.  He  allowed  her  to 
ramble  on  for  a  few  minutes,  excitedly,  and  then  in- 
quired : 

"  How  did  the  lawyer  open  the  drawer  if  there  was 
no  key?  " 

"  Just  simply  opened  it.  It  wasn't  locked.  What 
do  you  suppose  became  of  the  key  and  the  string  and 


"  Ask  me  an  easier  one,  Miss  Corse.  If  we  knew  who 
took  that  key  from  her  neck  we'd  know  everything. 
Was  the  lawyer  looking  for  a  will?  " 

"  Yes.  He  says  there  ought  to  be  one.  He  says  if 
they  can't  find  one  there  will  have  to  be  an  administra- 
tor appointed." 

"  She  probably  destroyed  the  will  herself,  Miss 
Corse." 

"  I  thought  of  that,  but  you  bet  I  kept  my  mouth  shut 
in  front  of  those  lawyers.  I'm  not  saying  anything" 

"  A  very  sensible  idea,"  said  he. 

Redpath  spent  portions  of  the  next  two  days  in  a 
surreptitious  search  for  the  missing  key  and  bag.  He 
was  convinced  that  Mr.  Gilman  had  destroyed  the  will, 
but  the  doing  away  with  such  material  objects  as  a  key 
and  a  chamois-skin  bag  was  a  precaution  that  would 


SHERRY  359 

not  have  entered  into  his  somnambulistic  calculations. 
His  efforts  were  unavailing.  He  had  his  theory  as  to 
the  manner  in  which  the  sleep-walker  had  disposed  of 
the  will,  and  it  was  not  inconceivable  that  the  other 
articles  had  followed  the  scrap  of  paper  into  the  drain 
pipe. 

A  week  later  he  walked  out  of  the  house  with  his  few 
belongings  and,  depositing  his  suit-cases  and  bundles  on 
the  curb  at  the  corner  below,  surveyed  his  late  home  with 
troubled  and  regretful  eyes.  His  heart  was  sore  over 
the  plight  in  which  he  was  leaving  his  friend  and  bene- 
factor. Before  leaving  he  had  gone  to  the  old  man's 
room.  Sitting  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  he  took  the 
limp  hand  of  Andrew  Gilman  in  his  own.  Intelligence 
was  in  the  haunting,  piteous  eyes  of  the  helpless  man. 
He  could  neither  move  nor  speak  and  yet  he  could  hear 
and  understand.  In  as  few  words  as  possible  Redpath 
made  it  clear  to  him  that  he  was  not  leaving  of  his  own 
free  will.  His  only  reference  to  the  secret  they  shared 
was  a  tactful  one  and  considerate. 

"  I  shall  always  think  of  you  as  the  finest  man  I've 
ever  known,  Mr.  Gilman.  My  heart  aches  for  you. 
You  have  been  my  friend.  If  I  live  to  be  a  hundred 
years  old  I  shall  never  do  anything  to  cause  you  to  feel 
that  I  am  not  your  true  and  loyal  friend.  You  will  like 
to  know,  perhaps,  that  I  have  destroyed  our  written  con- 
tract. I  owe  you  a  very  great  deal;  you  owe  me  noth- 
ing from  this  day  forth.  God  grant  that  you  may  soon 
be  on  your  feet  again,  sir, —  and  if  you  should  ever  need 
me  I  will  come  from  the  end  of  the  earth  to  be  of  service 
to  you." 

There  were  tears  on  his  cheeks  as  he  turned  away 


360  SHERRY 

from  the  bed.     Andrew  Gilman  had  closed  his  eyes  in 
mute  acknowledgment. 

For  eight  months  he  had  lived  in  that  grey,  quiet  old 
house.  He  had  gone  there  with  a  single  dollar  in  his 
pocket ;  he  was  leaving  it  with  a  substantial  balance  to 
his  credit  in  the  bank.  Out  of  his  wages  he  had  put 
aside  over  one  thousand  dollars.  It  was  his  pleasure  to 
regard  the  proverbial  rainy  day  and  prospective  matri- 
mony in  the  same  genial  light.  One  ought  to  lay  up 
something  for  both  emergencies.  He  had  enough  al- 
ready for  the  rainy  day,  but  for  the  other?  Well,  the 
rainy  day  was  at  hand;  the  other  was  at  present  the 
most  remote  and  intangible  thing  imaginable. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A  YEAR  ago  he  would  have  called  a  taxi-cab  and 
moved  in  such  splendour  as  that  ample  con- 
veyance could  provide.  But  now  he  was 
content  to  be  thrifty.  He  picked  up  his  bags  and  his 
bundles  and,  with  no  consideration  for  pride,  strutted 
down  the  hill  toward  the  street-car  line  in  Valley  Street, 
five  blocks  away.  Spring  was  in  the  air.  His  heart 
was  not  light,  however,  and  there  was  no  song  on  his 
lips.  He  was  not  as  pleased  with  the  future,  nor  as 
buoyantly  optimistic  as  he  was  in  the  early  days  of  his 
regeneration. 

The  flavour  was  gone ;  there  was  nothing  left  but  dull, 
tasteless,  matter-of-fact  reality.  Romance  had  lodged 
with  him  for  a  brief  spell  and  had  fled  incontinently, 
leaving  a  sear  and  barren  spot  on  which  he  was  now 
morally  certain  nothing  could  ever  flourish. 

That  spot  was  sacred  to  the  memory  of  Morna 
O'Brien.  Indeed,  he  was  pensively,  even  dolefully,  con- 
vinced that  it  was  a  place  where  love  was  buried. 

Down  the  hill  he  trudged,  laden  with  all  his  goods  and 
chattels,  objective  the  boarding-house  of  the  Misses 
Pinkus  in  Cedar  Street,  where  the  day  before  he  had 
arranged  for  room  and  board. 

The  Misses  Pinkus  conducted  a  "  select "  boarding- 
house.  You  could  not  get  room  or  board  there  unless 
the  middle-aged  sisters  happened  to  know  you  person- 
ally, or  your  parents,  uncles  or  aunts,  or,  in  a  pinch, 

361 


362  SHERRY 

some  one  who  belonged  to  the  Presbyterian  Church. 
They  had  known  Sherry's  mother.  They  spoke  of  her 
as  "  the  salt  of  the  earth."  So  he  took  the  room  for 
two  weeks.  He  would  have  to  wait  some  time  before  he 
could  see  the  General  Manager  of  the  Traction  Com- 
pany. Mr.  McGuire  was  in  New  York  on  a  "  combined 
business  and  pleasure  trip,"  according  to  the  Dispatch. 

He  was  half-way  down  the  hill  when  a  voice,  almost  at 
his  elbow,  brought  him  to  an  abrupt  standstill.  He  had 
been  so  busy  with  his  thoughts  that  he  had  not  heard  the 
approach  of  a  smooth-running  automobile  from  behind. 

"  Hello,  tramp ! "  was  what  the  voice  said,  and, 
strange  to  say,  it  was  the  very  voice  he  had  been  think- 
ing about  for  weeks.  "  Don't  you  want  some  one  to 
give  you  a  lift  with  your  ill-gotten  gains?  " 

"  For  the  love  of  — "  he  began,  and  then  breath  failed 
him.  He  stood  stock-still  and 'stared. 

"Taxi,  sir?" 

He  found  his  tongue  and  a  few  of  his  wits.  "  Would 
you  believe  it,  I  was  thinking  of  you  at  that  very  mo- 
ment. Where  did  you  spring  from?  " 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  interest  was  centred  in  the 
bags  and  bundles. 

"  Don't  tell  me  you've  been  bounced,"  she  said. 

*'  Absolutely.  I'm  on  the  town  again."  He  should 
have  said  it  lugubriously,  but  did  not.  Instead,  there 
was  a  decided  trace  of  hilarity  in  his  voice. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing,  sir,  to  get  discharged?  " 
she  demanded.  She  searched  his  face  intently.  What 
she  saw  there  brought  a  faint  sigh  of  relief  to  her  lips. 
There  were  no  ugly,  disturbing  traces  to  warrant  the 
sudden  apprehension  that  had  gripped  her  heart. 


SHERRY  363 

"  It's  a  long  story,"  he  replied. 

"  Jump  in,"  she  said.  "  Put  your  things  in  behind 
and  get  up  here  with  me.  I'll  take  you  wherever  you 
want  to  go." 

"  You  will  ? "  he  cried.  "  Then  take  me  to  the 
moon." 

"  Begorry,"  she  said,  flushing  slightly,  but  meeting 
his  gaze  fairly,  "  I  may  take  you  to  heaven,  which  is 
almost  the  same  thing,  if  a  front  shoe  blows  out.  I  feel 
very  reckless  today." 

"  Good !  I'm  glad  to  hear  it."  He  tossed  his  be- 
longings into  the  empty  tonneau  and  climbed  into  the 
seat  beside  the  wheel.  "  You  didn't  answer  me  a  mo- 
ment ago.  Where  did  you  spring  from?  When  did 
you  return?  " 

"  Three  weeks  ago,"  she  replied,  taking  her  foot  from 
the  brake.  "  Say  where?  " 

"  Just  drive  slowly  to  the  end  of  State  Street,  and 
then  turn  around  and  drive  slowly  to  the  other  end,  and 
then  turn  around  and  — " 

"  Don't  be  siUy !  You  can't  afford  it.  I  charge  five 
dollars  an  hour.  Turn  about  is  fair  play.  You 
charged  me  an  outrageous  price  for  carrying  my  tiny 
little  bags  last  — " 

"  You  say  you've  been  home  for  three  weeks  ?  "  he 
interrupted.  "  Where  have  you  been  keeping  your- 
self? " 

"  I've  been  keeping  myself  in  my  room  most  of  the 
time,  Mr.  Redpath." 

"  Aha !  Under  lock  and  key,  I  suppose.  Been  try- 
ing to  run  away  again  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.     I  had  the  measles." 


364  SHERRY 

"  Good  Lord !  "     He  laughed  heartily. 

"  It's  great  to  hear  you  laugh  like  that,"  she  saidi 
"  You  haven't  really  laughed  in  your  nice  old  way  for 
four  or  five  months." 

"  I  haven't  had  anything  to  make  me  laugh,"  he  said, 
sober  at  once.  "  A  fellow's  got  to  be  happy  to  laugh 
like  that,  you  know." 

"  Were  you  happy  just  now?  " 

"  For  a  second  or  two,"  he  admitted. 

"  Because  I  had  the  measles?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  I  was  just  happy  to  see  you. 
Don't  be  alarmed,  Morna,"  he  went  on,  his  voice  soften- 
ing. "  I  sha'n't  say  anything  I  shouldn't.  That's  all 
past  and  gone." 

There  was  something  like  alarm  in  the  swift  glance 
with  which  she  favoured  him,  but  it  gave  way  instantly 
before  a  confident,  fulgent  glow  of  relief.  Then  she 
looked  straight  ahead.  A  faint  smile  played  about  the 
corners  of  her  adorable  mouth. 

"  Why  haven't  you  called  us  up  on  the  telephone  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  Don't  you  know  that  Granny  adores  you? 
She's  really  quite  a  snob  in  her  way.  She's  always 
telling  me  that  you  come  of  a  terribly  good  family. 
Family  counts  with  her.  That's  what  I  mean  when  I 
say  she's  a  —  a  kind  of  a  snob.  You  really  ought  to 
call  her  up  once  in  awhile." 

"  I've  been  very  much  occupied  with  all  this  awful 
business  at  Mr.  Gilman's.  Besides,  I  —  to  be  perfectly 
honest  with  you, —  I  couldn't  call  her  up  without  mak- 
ing some  sort  of  inquiry  about  you,  and  that  I  couldn't 
do." 

"What!" 


SHERRY  365 

He  turned  on  her  suddenly,  his  jaw  set.  "  See  here, 
Morna,  I've  got  to  have  the  truth.  How  is  it  with  you 
and  Jimmy  Burton?  What  happened  down  there  in 
Florida  ?  Why  did  you  run  away  and  leave  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton?  Where—" 

"  For  the  love  of  heaven,  man,  ask  one  at  a  time," 
she  cried,  her  eyes  sparkling.  Now  she  had  him  where 
she  wanted  him !  There  was  fire  in  his  eye.  She  liked 
that.  "How  is  it  with  Jimmy  Burton  and  me? 
That's  number  one.  Well,  I  can  answer  that  by  saying 
I'm  sure  it's  all  right  with  us.  Number  two.  Granny 
and  I  quarrelled  horribly  about  Jimmy.  Number  three. 
What  do  you  mean  by  saying  chat  I  ran  away  from 
Granny?  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Why, —  why,  she  telegraphed  that  you  were  not 
with  her.  She  came  home  alone.  What  the  deuce  was 
I  to  think,  tell  me  that?  Only  one  thing,  of  course." 

"  And  what  was  that?  " 

"  That  you'd  made  a  goose  of  yourself  and  run  away 
with  Jimmy,  that's  all.  You  can  get  mad  if  you  want 
to.  I  had  to  get  it  out  of  m^T  system.  I  had  — " 

"  Oh,  you  old  stupid ! "  she  shrieked,  and  laughed  so 
gaily  that  pedestrians  smiled  in  compliment.  "  Lord 
love  you,  I'm  not  angry.  Now,  tell  me,  why  would  I 
be  running  away  with  Jimmy  Burton  ?  " 

"  Because  your  grandmother  objects  to  — " 

"  Answer  the  question." 

"  Well,  there's  only  one  answer  to  that.  Because 
you  were  in  love  with  him." 

"  And  why  would  I  be  running  away  with  him  when 
I'm  in  love  with  somebody  else?  "  she  asked,  looking 
straight  into  his  eyes. 


366  SHERRY 

"  Oh,  Lord !  Then  —  then,  it  isn't  even  Jimmy,"  he 
groaned. 

"  He's  not  the  man,"  said  Morna  flatly. 

"  I'm  sorry.  If  it  has  to  be  anybody,  I'd  like  Jimmy 
to  be  the  one.  He's  a  fine  fellow,  and  I  —  I  like  him. 
Confound  him,  I  like  him."  He  sighed.  "  By  George, 
I  like  him  better  than  ever,  now  that  we're  ship- 
mates." 

Morna  was  suddenly  silent.  Her  heart  was  beating 
like  a  trip  hammer,  and  she  could  not  trust  her  voice. 
An  amazing  shyness  took  possession  of  her.  As  an 
outlet  for  her  emotions  she  deliberately  sent  the  car 
headlong  at  a  telephone  pole,  and  as  he  cried  out  in 
alarm,  as  quickly  swerved  back  into  the  roadway,  very 
much  as  the  clown  bicyclist  behaves  in  the  circus  act. 

"  I'm  glad  Mrs.  Coinpton  likes  me,"  he  said,  after  a 
moment. 

"  Oh,  she  liked  Jimmy  before  she  found  out  who  he 
was,"  said  she,  maliciously. 

"  Does  she  approve  of  this  other  chap  ?  " 

"What  other  chap?" 

"  The  one  you're  going  to  marry." 

"  I  didn't  say  I  was  going  to  marry  him,  did  I?  " 

"  I  thought  you  — " 

"  I  said  I  was  in  love  with  him.  Now,  tell  me,  just 
where  do  you  want  me  to  take  you?  I  promised 
Granny  I'd  be  home  before  six." 

He  gave  her  the  number  in  Cedar  Street.  "  I'm  go- 
ing to  board  there  till  something  turns  up.  The 
chances  are  I'll  be  shaking  the  dust  of  Farragut  from 
my  feet  before  long." 

She  started.     "  You  mean  you  are  —  going  away?  " 


SHERRY  367 

"  Nothing  for  me  in  this  town,"  said  he,  and  did  not 
know  how  the  caustic  rejoinder  hurt  her.  "Mr.  Mc- 
Guire  wants  me  to  take  a  place  with  the  Traction 
Company.  It's  a  great  chance.  I  couldn't  accept  it 
as  long  as  I  was  — " 

"  He  wants  you  to  go  to  Chicago?  " 

"  Construction  work,  wherever  it  takes  me." 

"  How  perfectly  splendid,"  she  said,  but  half-heart- 
edly. "  Granny  will  be  so  pleased.  She  has  always 
said  you  would  go  straight  to  the  top  of  the  ladder. 
I've  never  known  such  unbounded  faith  as  she  has  — " 

"  She's  an  old  dear,"  cried  he,  genuinely  pleased. 
"  Here  we  are.  My  new  lodgings.  Sorry  I  can't  ask 
you  in.  Thank  you  for — " 

"  Just  a  moment.     Five  dollars,  please." 

He  laughed.  "  I  haven't  that  much  in  my  pocket. 
One  precious  silver  dollar,  two  quarters,  a  dime  — " 

"  I'll  have  to  seize  your  baggage,"  she  threatened. 

"  Over  my  dead  body.  You'll  have  to  seize  me  with 
it,  I  can  tell  you  that." 

"  All  right.  I'll  seize  you  too.  Get  back  into  the 
car  at  once.  I  promised  Granny  I'd  bring  you  home, 
for  dinner." 

"  You  did  what?  " 

"  Here !  Take  your  old  bags  into  the  house.  I'll 
wait  for  you.  You  are  going  home  with  me  for  dinner. 
Granny's  orders." 

"  But  how  does  she  know  that  — " 

"  She  knows  everything.  I've  told  her.  She  said  I 
must  bring  you  out  this  very  evening." 

"  She  knows  I've  lost  my  place?  You  told  her? 
But  you  didn't  know  it  yourself  until  — " 


368  SHERRY 

"  Move  on,  now !  That's  the  Irish  in  me.  I  am  a 
born  policeman.  Hurry  back !  " 

He  was  back  in  five  minutes. 

"  Shall  we  take  the  road  through  Compton's 
Woods  ?  "  she  asked.  "  It  is  longer  —  and  prettier, 
even  at  this  time  of  the  year." 

And  as  they  skirted  the  lower  end  of  Compton's 
Woods  he  pointed  out  to  her  the  distant  ridge  on  which 
he  had  spent  several  memorable  nights;  he  told  her  of 
his  lunch-box  and  the  pugnacious  tramp ;  of  the  crawfish 
and  silver-sides  in  Burton's  Creek ;  of  the  resolutions  he 
had  made  while  lying  in  the  cool,  green  wood;  of  his 
determination  to  make  a  real  position  for  himself  in  the 
world. 

"  But  listen  to  the  way  I  go  on  talking  about  myself. 
Terribly  bad  form,  I  call  it." 

"  As  a  rule,"  said  she,  most  engagingly,  "  I  like  a 
man  who  talks  about  himself  all  the  time.  He  never 
says  anything  disagreeable." 

Shadows  were  falling  as  they  wended  their  way 
through  the  narrow,  tree-lined  road  into  the  depths  of 
the  wood.  She  was  listening  as  one  entranced.  The 
blue  in  her  eyes  seemed  to  have  deepened;  she  was 
strangely  self-conscious  and  filled  with  alarms,  and  yet 
the  smile  on  her  lips  was  soft  and  sweet  and  tremulous. 

"  Of  course,  I  realize  that  my  position  with  Mr.  Gil- 
man  would  never  have  got  me  anywhere.  I  jumped  at 
it,  to  be  sure,  but  I  couldn't  have  stayed  on  with  him 
for  more  than  a  year  or  two.  It  wouldn't  have  been 
fair  to  him.  I  wasn't  anywhere  near  worth  my  hire. 
Then  came  this  horrible  — " 

"  Wait  I     Don't  tell   that  part   of  the   story  now. 


SHERRY  369 

Please !  It  gives  me  the  shivers.  I'll  be  seeing  spooks 
if  you  go  on.  And  now  what  kind  of  a  position  is  it 
that  Mr.  McGuire  wants  you  to  take?" 

"  I  don't  know.  He  says  if  I  make  good  in  it,  I'll 
have  a  mighty  fine  chance  to  go  to  the  top, —  whatever 
that  may  be." 

"  Granny  is  sure  you  will  be  a  great  man  one  of  these 
fine  days,"  said  she,  so  softly  he  barely  heard  the 
words. 

He  laughed.  "  She  thinks  pretty  well  of  me,  I  must 
say." 

Morna's  eyes  twinkled.  "  She  was  saying  only  last 
night  that  you  ought  to  be  getting  married  so  that 
you'd  have  some  one  to  really  work  for  —  besides  your- 
self. Isn't  it  queer  that  old  people  are  always  harping 
on—" 

"  Morna,  there's  only  one  girl  in  all  this  world  that 
I'd  marry,  and  I've  promised  her  never  to  mention  the 
subject  to  her  again." 

"  Meaning  me?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  info  no  me  just  when 
such  a  promise  was  exacted  of  you  ?  " 

"  Why, —  why  —  Morna,  what  do  you  mean  ?  You 
—  God,  how  lovely  your  eyes  are  in  this  light.  How 
lovely  you  —  Oh,  Lord,  stop  me !  I  swear  I  couldn't 
help  it  —  I  couldn't  — " 

"  Answer  me  this  wan  question,"  she  said,  in  her  most 
delicious  brogue.  "Are  you  in  love  with  me?  Yes  or 
no!" 

He  was  utterly  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  the  car 
had  come  to  a  complete  stop.  His  eyes,  his  thoughts, 


370  SHERRY 

his  whole  being  were  intent  upon  the  smiling,  starry-eyed 
'creature  who  made  this  heartless,  selfish  demand  upon 
him. 

"  Yes,"  he  almost  sobbed. 

Her  lip  trembled,  something  sweet  and  shy  swam  in 
her  dark  eyes. 

"  Haven't  ye  a  grain  of  sense,  Sherry  Redpath  ?  " 
she  murmured,  striving  hard  to  control  her  voice. 
"  Haven't  ye  an  eye  in  that  silly  old  head  of  yours?  " 

"  Morna ! " 

"  I'll  not  move  an  inch  from  this  spot  till  you've  asked 
me  to  marry  you !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  burly  figure  of  Officer  Barney  Doyle 
moved  slowly,  tortuously  up  the  hill  toward 
the  crest  of  his  long  and  lonesome  beat.  Far 
below  him  in  the  still  heart  of  the  sleeping  city  the  clock 
in  the  court-house  dome  had  boomed  out  the  hour  of  one. 

A  pedestrian  approached,  walking  swiftly,  coming 
from  the  top  of  Hooper  Street  and  the  sombre  stretches 
that  lay  beyond.  Officer  Doyle  came  to  a  halt  under 
the  suspended  arc  light.  True  to  training,  custom  and 
the  wariness  of  experience,  he  chose  the  spot  deliber- 
ately. Experience  had  taught  him  many  things.  One 
of  these  was  that  if  you  have  to  meet  a  man,  friend  or 
foe,  contrive  to  do  it  in  the  light  and  not  in  the  dark. 
Moreover,  it  is  best  to  have  as  much  of  him  in  the  light 
as  possible  and  as  little  of  yourself.  Hence,  Barney 
managed  to  halt  a  considerable  portion  of  himself  in  the 
shadow  of  the  pole  that  carried  the  light. 

The  pedestrian's  chin  was  high  and  his  head  was  bare. 
He  was  whistling  merrily. 

"  Hello,  bedad !  "  said  Barney  Doyle,  and  advanced  a 
couple  of  steps.  "  Is  it  you  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  said  the  night-farer,  stopping  short. 

"  And  what  the  divil  are  ye  doing  out  this  time  oj  the 
night?" 

"  I'm  the  happiest  man  in  the  world,  Barney." 

371 


372  SHERRY 

"  Is  it  true  that  ye've  lost  your  job?  " 

"  I'm  as  free  as  the  air  we  breathe,"  said  the  other, 
waving  his  hand  expressively. 

"  Begorry ,  is  that  anything  to  be  happy  about  ? 
Jobs  don't  grow  on  lilac  bushes.  Ye'll  be  a  divil  av  a 
while  finding  another  — " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  am  the  happiest  man  in  the  world,"  in- 
terrupted the  pedestrian  irrelevantly.  "  When  a  fel- 
low's as  happy  as  I  am  he  just  has  to  walk  it  off,  Bar- 
ney. I've  walked  three  miles  and  a  half  since  eleven 
o'clock." 

"  And  it's  one  o'clock  now.  Have  ye  been  walkin' 
backwards?  I  do  that  much  in  an  hour." 

"  They  wanted  to  send  me  home  in  the  automobile. 
Not  much,  said  I.  I  just  had  to  walk,  and  be  alone 
with  myself  to  think  it  all  over  and  — " 

"  Say,  what's  the  matter  wid  ye?  Are  ye  daffy? 
Bedad,  I  don't  wonder  they  wanted  to  send  ye  home, 
whoever  they  be." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  married,  Barney?  " 

"  Going  on  twinty-five  years.  What  the  divil  has 
that  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  It's  great,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Begorry,  I  believe  ye've  been  drinkin'  ag'in.  For 
the  love  av  Mike,  don't  tell  me  — " 

"  I've  been  drinking  ambrosial  nectars,  and  I'm  drunk 
as  a  lord.  Have  you  ever  been  tight  on  ambrosial 
nectars,  Barney?" 

"  I  have  not !  I'm  dommed  particular  what  I  drink. 
That's  more  than  I  can  say  for  you,  you  — " 

The  night-farer  laughed  loudly,  and  slapped  Barney 
on  the  back. 


SHERRY  373 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about.  I'm 
going  to  stay  drunk  all  the  rest  of  my  life,  just  as  I 
am  right  now.  I'm  never  going  to  be  sober  again.  The 
nectar  of  the  Gods ! "  He  raised  his  shining  face  and 
wafted  a  kiss  from  his  finger  tips  to  the  gods  in  the  star- 
less sky. 

Barney  groaned.  "  It  will  be  the  hardest  job  av  me 
life  when  I  tell  the  old  lady  that  ye've  gone  back  to 
the  booze,  me  lad.  And  poor  Patsy  Burke !  He'll  die 
av  grief.  I  was  tellin'  him  this  very  hour,  down  beyant 
the  ball  park,  that  ye'd  lost  your  job  and  I  was  af eared 
ye'd  take  to  the  stuff  again  if  we  didn't  get  hold  av  ye 
in  time.  But,  how  could  I  — " 

"  Ho  !  Ho  !  "  laughed  the  other,  and  linked  his  arm 
in  that  of  the  perplexed  policeman.  "  Which  way  do 
you  fare,  my  hearty  ?  Up  hill  or  down,  I  am  with  you. 
I  sha'n't  go  to  bed  at  all.  I'm  not  going  to  spoil  this 
glorious  night  by  sleeping  in  it.  No,  sirree !  This  is 
one  of  those  rare  Arabian  nights.  Have  you  ever  read 
the  Arabian  Nights,  Mr.  Doyle  ?  " 

"  I  have  not,"  declared  Mr.  Doyle,  holding  back. 

"  Well,  they're  full  of  magic.  First  the  prince  or 
the  princess  is  turned  into  a  toad  or  something  and  then 
along  comes  a  cobbler  and  smites  — " 

"  For  the  love  of  heaven,  lad,  come  home  with  me,  do. 
Ye're  not  fit  to  be  wandering  about  the  streets  in  this 
condition.  Ye've  a  fever.  Ye're  delirious,  so  ye  are. 
Come  along,  now,  there's  a  fine  lad,  and  I'll  have  me  old 
woman  — " 

"  Do  you  know,  Barney,  I  never  realized  until  tonight 
what  a  beautiful  brogue  you've  got.  I  could  stand 
here  till  morning  listening  to  you  talk." 


374.  SHERRY 

"  Well,  begob,  ye'll  do  nothing  av  the  kind,  me 
bucko." 

"  What  is  it  about  the  Irish  brogue  that  touches  the 
heartstrings  of — " 

"  Are  ye  trying  to  make  fun  av  the  Irish  ?  "  de- 
manded Officer  Doyle,  bridling. 

"  By  the  way,"  cried  his  companion  abruptly,  "  I 
want  to  ask  a  special  favour  of  you,  Barney." 

"  It's  best  to  humour  them,"  muttered  Barney,  help- 
lessly. Then  aloud,  in  a  wheedling,  conciliatory  man- 
ner. "  Anything  you  like,  me  lad." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  say  a  word  to  anybody 
about  what  I've  just  told  you.  We  don't  want  it  known 
at  present.  You  won't  mention  it,  will  you?  That's 
a  good  fellow." 

"  Not  a  word,"  said  Barney  Doyle,  vastly  plagued 
and  bewildered. 


THE    END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  787  1 1 1     4 


